The Scarred Hero: A Forgotten Fear
by thein273
Summary: Same as "A Forgotten Fear: Book 1 of The Scarred Hero." AU. Five years after TLO. Percy was banished from Camp Half-Blood by Hera after The Titan War but is forced to return. Unknown foes are resurfacing, and Percy has to stop them. Rated for coarse language, some suggestive content, and character death. More summary inside.
1. Chapter 1

**THE SCARRED HERO**

_A Forgotten Fear_

* * *

Synopsis:

Five years ago, Perseus Jackson was banished from the grounds of Camp Half-Blood on consequence of genocide by Hera, Queen of the Gods. Heartbroken and betrayed, he lets the gods fake his death and send him away from New York City into a new life of thrilling adventure and unending suffering.

Despite overwhelming odds, Percy persevered and made a new life under the name "Eric". Now a bitter homeless recluse, his solitary drive for life is that of a small twelve year old girl named Samantha "Sam" Fisher. Ever the loyal hero, he vows to protect her, regardless of the cost to himself or others. He never planned for it to turn out this way.

Forced to return to Camp Half-Blood, Percy now has to maintain an unwavering facade unbreakable even by his old crush, Annabeth Chase; keep Nico di Angelo from deeming him a traitor and killing him; defend Sam from the earth-shattering truth about the scar on his face; and fight against a foe older than Kronos ever dreamed of being.

Even worse, Camp Half-Blood is experiencing turmoil of its own - a turmoil that leads to a quest Percy ever-so-wisely accepts. With a doomsayer prophecy, a homicidal ex-fiancee, and a whirlwind of new foes, Percy might just discover why Hera really sentenced him to a life without hope . . . . Or get himself and everybody else killed by a fear the world long forgot . . . .

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***Please see Author's Note at the end of the chapter before continuing the text.**

* * *

Chapter One: I Get Summoned

Everything went to Tartarus when the God of War drove in on a motorcycle.

Up until that earth-shattering moment, I was having a very good day - at least by demigod standards. My fellow runaway - Samantha "Sam" Fisher - and I were chuckling as we licked happily at our ice cream cones and smirked at passersby when they raised disapproving eyebrows at our disheveled appearances. The sun was high without being quite as smoldering as we still remembered from our recent time in Pennsylvania during a heat wave. The sky was clear with a dusting of wispy white clouds to contrast the perfect blue, and spirits were generally up.

But, of course, nothing could last.

Carrying my melting chocolate chip ice cream, I jogged across a crosswalk, Sam keeping up with her smaller legs beside me. We were both careful not to drop our desserts - there was no way in Olympus I could swing another splurge like this for a few months.

"Spotted anything nasty yet?" I asked her, ruffling her dark brown hair as it caught the right lighting to shine its earth tone and not the black it always tricked me into believing it was. Given a proper distance, Sam could look like my little sister. Some people accused her of being my daughter, but I was only nine years her senior.

Sam ducked the affectionate move, shooting me a dark glare and moving to lick her ice cream again. Unfortunately, I nudged its course into her nose. Red ice coated the tip of it, and Sam rubbed it away indignantly. "I swear," she began, huffing. "You're five."

I smiled and hugged her close, laughing in the high noon sun and cloudless day of Staten Island, New York. Despite my various reasons _not _to step foot in New England, Sam's persistent whines had encouraged me, and I couldn't be happier. It was beautiful weather in the spring, and the people were nicer than most other times of the year. Stress was light in the air, and monsters were hard to come by ever since The Titan War decimated multitudes of their ranks. With my distinguishing scar, attained _after _my forced retirement, there was no possible way anyone from my youthful past could recognize me. Altogether, things were rather pleasant.

I even bought a new pair of sneakers in Pennsylvania.

Sam craned her neck around to see the suburb-appropriate small houses with the white picket fences and small children playing in the yard. The neighborhood we pestered with our presence waved pleasantly at us as we passed, and I half expected some Stepford wife to pop in front of us with a tray of cookies and a perky "Good morning" halting us in our tracks. If there was one, I'd be liable to draw my trusty sword Riptide and stab her just to be on the safe side.

But even then, nothing happened. It was uneventful, and for a homeless kid who'd seen most of the US in the past five years of dodging snarling monstrosities, I was entitled to a little blandness.

There wasn't anyone around, unless you counted the elderly woman on her front porch, reading the newspaper in her bathroom robe. I patted a birch tree lovingly, taking a whiff of the wet grass. Here, in a place hardly counting as a metropolis, I felt free. No annoying, two-bit Olympian god could torment me here.

And then that utterly perfect day was shot right into Tartarus via a golden bucket.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, tingling with what could only be described as "bad vibes". All people have some sort of sixth sense feeling of when something bad is going to happen and it flares up occasionally, but demigods - especially demigods like me with such a strong scent - have to be especially attentive with the internal alert system starts blaring.

I nudged Sam likely and she looked up as I thrust out from my solar plexus in a three-fingered claw; universal sign language for "whatever god or goddess actually cares, _please _don't let whatever wants to eat me right now _actually _eat me."

Sam's eyes widened, and then she sulked. I could sympathize - things had been going so well.

After half-a-decade dogging monsters, I'd learn a certain degree of nonchalance that is otherwise impossible. With a truly casual glance over my shoulder, I placed a pretty gymnast teenager at our six o'clock. Designer handbag that was more than likely the Misted sheath for a dagger or some other sort of weapon and a tight miniskirt. I felt my mouth begin to water, and it wasn't because she was eating a hamburger.

"Sam." I gulped as my young charge glanced up from her determinedly paced walk. "Do me a favor."

"Hmm?" She arched her eyebrows in honest interest.

"Slap me."

The hairy areas above Sam's knitted together in confusion and she came to a complete and ill-timed stop. "Excuse me?"

"That's an _empousa,_" I told her, jerking my head toward our stalker as she closed the distance with hungry eyes. From the corner of my eye, I could see the fire biting at the air around her, but I couldn't even acknowledge without it vanishing. "I can't fight her if she's doing that whole lust-magic thing on me. Slap me."

Sam looked uncertain, eyes flitting over to the gymnast facade walking toward us. She rounded the corner, coming straight toward us.

"Sam," I hissed. "_Now._"

She knew that tone. Without any further hesitation, she jerked her thumb at the ground (I had at _least _a two-foot height difference on her, but it often felt more like three) and I crouched down enough for her to reach my non-cut cheek on her tiptoes. With more power than you might expect coming from a petite, un-muscled girl like Sam, she left a stinging trail across my face.

Instantly, the magic haze shattered like a broken mirror and I saw the _empousa _for what she was. A bonfire of hair roared from her scalp, with eyes equally red blazing into me. One leg was a donkey's, furry and bent awkwardly, and the other was like a metal peg-leg, clanging around loudly. Her charm nullified, the _empousa _picked up speed, making a beeline for us.

Nonchalantly avoiding a confrontation being officially defeated as an option, I settled for running. It was a tactic I had mastered over the years of survival; way more useful than any magically returning.

"Run!" I grabbed Sam's arm in case the tugging would encourage movement faster than the charging she-demon making way toward us. I cursed vehemently and a lot as we moved, turning yet another corner only to find it was a cul-de-sac. Sam and I skidded to a stop, my sailor's mouth supplying a healthy amount of "I hate you, Atoptros!" as we spun on our heels and headed for the opposite side of the street.

For the first time I wondered why Staten Island couldn't be like everywhere else in New York City - plenty of people, multitudes of taxis all sweating for some desperate commuter with tired feet, and a healthy amount of annoyed people willing to clobber anybody who accidentally bumped into them. But of course not, because my luck would not allow with the disdainful smell of humanity to cover up the poignant odor of freaked-out-demigod.

My hand dived into my right pocket and I summoned my ever-present ballpoint pen from my pocket, along with a classically wrapped Hermes' bar. Yes, I meant Hermes'.

I passed the bar to Sam, who juggled it in her hands as she started getting farther ahead of me. Despite her size, Sam was quite the sprinter and her stamina was to be admired. Although her size had always been a hindrance in battle, it was a strength when getting the Hades out of dodge.

She frowned at my offering, holding it up to me with a warped facial expression. "What? A candy bar?" She paused to take a breath. "Percy, I know you feel bad about the ice cream, but life is more important."

Right, I just noticed. We had to drop the cold dessert when we started running. Talk about a good day going sour.

"No," I told her, starting to feel breathless. I faltered but caught myself pretty quickly. "It's Hermes' chocolate. Baked with 70% nectar flavoring. One bite, and your injuries disappear. He - " I gasped, catching my breath while running. It was challenging. " - gave it to me last . . . month."

Sam looked at me like I'd gone crazy. "And what do you want me to do?"

"I - "

Just then, the _empousa _caught up.

She body-slammed me to the ground, and my pen skittered out of reach. Once again, I swore - today was nice and rich for those - and kneed her hard in the stomach. My foot collided with her bronze leg but I didn't feel any of the ill-effects, a nice little bonus to having bathed in the legendary River Styx when I was fifteen.

I punched her hard in the jaw, fire flaring out to blind and burn me when I did so. The blinding part worked, but my already-marred face was undamaged by her flame. Another fist connected with her face, and she tumbled off of me, just in time for my pen to return to my pocket.

Quick note: My father, Poseidon, gave me a pen when I was twelve that transforms into a sword and always returns to my pocket when lost. Handy, right?

The three-foot deadly blade of Celestial bronze emerged from the meager writing tool, leather grip fitting comfortably in the palm of my hand. A smile spread across my face as I re-acclimated to holding my trusted weapon - even a couple of days without practice could wear your form.

But that didn't seem to be a problem today. That purse the _empousa _carried while in mortal form was, indeed, a one-sided dagger, and it _swished _through the air at my stomach. I sucked in my gut and batted the attack aside, glad to see her movements were sluggish in my eyes. I'd been afraid that, after so long of fending off brainless brutes like Cyclopes, a she-demon might get an upper-hand.

Always nice to know my fears had no foundation.

After a few more parries, I sliced her head off. It burst into gold dust along with the rest of her, sparkling in the light of the spring sun. A gust of wind blew it straight into my face.

I coughed, dispersing the mist in front of me, and grumbled, "Hate when that happens."

I looked over at Sam, who was now inching closer to me now that I wasn't engaged in a fight to the death. She panted from exertion, but with Riptide (the name of my sword) in my hand I couldn't feel any fatigue. I'd been avoided using my signature weapon ever since we arrived in New England, and the pressure to use it resulted in an influx of relief. No familiar faces to gasp and point at the Hoplite-styled blade and exclaim "Percy Jackson!"

I admired my blade for a half-second - the phenomenal balance, stout in make with a leaf-shaped blade rounding to a surprisingly sharp tip. Its leather grip unmoved no matter how much I sweat. Yeah, holding it again was nice.

But mortals must have heard some of the exclamations, and I saw some of the Stepford people crack open their doors to see whatever riffraff had managed to disturb their uneventful lives. I tapped the tip of Riptide and it shrunk back into a pen before anyone could identify as a shotgun or whatever the Mist let them see. Mortals were especially inclined to believe a random twenty year old could be carrying a weapon in their neighborhood. These things just didn't happen.

"I'm sorry I ran," Sam said quietly, looking guilty. "I panicked when she . . ."

"Don't worry about it," I told her, pulling her into a sideways hug. "I had it under control. And I want you to run before you get hurt, remember?" I looked around and saw that the grass on the nice lawns wasn't disturbed more than ten feet. I scowled. "Speaking of . . . Sam, I told you when I'm attacked, you need to run _and __keeping running _until I track you down. Right?"

Sam pushed off my side, crossing her arms with an open mouth. "_What?_" Her emerald eyes flashed angrily. "No, no, no, no, no. We agreed to that when you were yelling at me and I wanted you to shut up and let me sleep. I wasn't actually _agreeing _to anything."

"You just contradicted yourself," I pointed out, a nasty habit I picked up from a friend years back and hadn't ever lost. "and we're agreeing to it down. Sam, you're twelve. You need to get away before they kill you."

Sam screwed up her face in that constipated stubbornness of hers. Next to the sweet wide eyes, that was my worst enemy. "You went on your first death-defying quest when _you _were twelve," she countered.

Which would have been a good point, except for the omitted: "Yep, but my dad was going to start a World War in a hissy fight with Zeus. I sort of _had _to go get a lightning bolt I _hadn't _stolen to make the big, fat idiot stop pointing fingers. Unless I wanted the world to be submerged into anarchy."

Sam stuck her tongue out at me. "You and your big superhero reasons for everything. You are _so _big-headed."

"I'm big-headed?" I challenged. "This coming from the embodiment of swag who _told _me to pick a fight with her when she met me?"

Sam narrowed her eyes until they were slits. "You were big, armed, and I had monsters chasing me. I had to look formidable."

"You looked adorable," I shot back. "Like a mini G.I. Jane."

"I'm gonna kill you!" Sam roared before launching herself into my chest with a massive hug and sending me staggering into a tree, laughing hard enough to bust a lung.

The G.I. Jane analogy wasn't all that far off. With her extremely short dark hair and occasionally fierce gaze, Sam could look like the start of a very dangerous enemy. Right now, though, she was short, slender, and way too fun-loving to be scary.

I intended to keep it that way as long as it was in my power.

"Come on," I told her, prying her off of me with a wide grin. "Let's go find a place to duck for the night. I'm tired."

* * *

Our hideout was a foreclosed suburban home a few blocks from where I dispersed with our she-demon friend. It looked like every other home, only the fence was green to match the carefully mowed lawn. I hated to kick up some of the fake grass on our way in.

Sam and I made ourselves comfortable in the living room and I checked the refrigerator for leftover refreshments. Every now and again, a Realtor would leave a few bottles of water there for parched customers, and I was glad when I found I wasn't disappointed.

I heard sounds coming from the living room and twisted open the water as I emerged to find Sam flipping through channels with a grin on her face. "Hey, Percy, check this out! This place still gets cable!"

I frowned at that. From what I understood, once a home got foreclosed, all luxurious power was cut. Electricity was intact so pitchers could sell the places, but phone, internet, and television were terminated. Why . . . ?

I shook off the paranoia. It had settled with me back when I was in my darkest time, and I guess it never really went away. More than likely, someone had already put a down payment on their new cliched home and hadn't bothered to move in yet. They'd get an unpleasant surprise when they checked their power bill for the month was all.

"Nice." I flopped down on the cushion and tossed Sam another bottle of water. She caught it without a hitch and opened it, gulping down half in a single swallow. "Hey, pass me the remote. I want to see what stuff I've missed."

I found that CSI: Miami had been cancelled, something I found depressing. Random cartoons kept throwing themselves in my face, too, and I wasn't appreciative of the commercials that went on forever. Had it always been this annoying to watch cable?

Finally, I turned on the news for background noise and Alisyn Camerota - an older blonde news anchor for Fox News - was in the middle of describing the scene of a tragic murder in Vermont three days prior.

"Law enforcement are baffled by the sudden death of Vermont Senator Henry Galgrin in his own home Tuesday morning, a gunshot wound from what the M.E. suspects to be a nine millimeter pistol. No gunshots were heard coming from his home the night of the murder, and his wife was away with her Country Club around the time he was killed. There are no witnesses, and so far, the police have no leads as to who this elusive killer might be. Citizens of Montpelier are cautioned to lock their doors and be careful who they let into their homes. Police are not sure of the motivation or intent of this killer, but judging by the fascinating gold coin found on the naked body, they believe it might be a serial killer."

"Gold coin?" I wondered aloud, shrinking the Scrolling Guide off the screen as an image of aforementioned treasure came up. It was normal, mostly round with a few deformities consistent with being pressed into shape while molten, with a familiar face stamped on it.

My heart stopped dead in my chest.

"If you have any leads on who this killer might be or have seen this coin, you are urged to call nine-one-one or eighty-eight-crime immediately. On other news . . ."

"Can I see the remote?" Sam asked, oblivious to my wordless shock. I passed it to her and it dropped into her palm from my limp fingers. "Percy?"

I shook off my stupor and beamed at her, patting her on the shoulder and motioning that she should look at the entertainment options. "Sorry," I said flippantly. "Zoned out. I think I'm going to go catch some shuteye. Get some rest before dawn, okay? We'll have to move then."

Sam groaned. "It isn't even six yet, Percy. I can stay up a little longer."

"Yeah, yeah," I told her, feeling like my mother. "Whatever. But get to bed before we have to relocate. Alright?"

"Alright," Sam grumbled, flopping back in her seat. "Killjoy."

I smirked and I stood up to walk into the bedroom. It was mostly unfurnished, but the bed remained. I figured that people had to be gradually moving stuff in and were just hanging back for a few more days, likely to avoid the whole unpacking nightmare.

I collapsed on the white and pink comforter and fell asleep instantly.

* * *

A familiar scream woke me.

I raced out of the room, door banging open with enough force to break drywall and drew Riptide as I raced to the front room. The hall ended abruptly and I focused on a man with a gun held to Sam's forehead.

He wore dark clothes, but they weren't brooding like my cousin, Nico's or ninja-like. They were simple; darker jeans with a plain black tee. Light brown hair was buzzed around the sides, but puffed out freely up top. He had pale eyes that looked satanic in the faint lighting.

He looked up to see me, frozen at the end of the hall. He smirked. "Brother?"

"No," I told him. "but thanks for letting me know your a demigod."

His smile vanished. "How - ?"

"Mortals usually notice the glowing sword before anything else."

He stopped for a moment, studying me, before laughing raucously. I would have joined in if he wasn't threatening to kill Sam.

"So," he began. "Who are you?"

"It doesn't matter," I dismissed with a wave of my hand. "Look, put your gun away and we can forget this ever happened. Just don't hurt the little girl."

"You're not exactly in a position to be making demands, _Eric._" My blood ran cold. "Yeah, I recognized the scar. Anne still has it out for you real bad."

"Yeah," I agreed, forcing my rising anger under control. "I just heard about her latest conquest on the news. I didn't know she had a partner."

"You don't know a lot of things," the gunman snapped. "like what it's gonna look like when I blow this precious thing's brains all over the living floor. Oh, the homeowners are going to have a bitch of a time explaining _that _one to the insurance company.

And, because it was a stressful moment and I was painfully ADHD, I said, "Please don't swear. She's twelve."

He laughed again, but this time it was darker and colder. Less emotion. I could feel him tensing on the trigger. He flinched and I called out, throwing out my hands. "Don't!"

A cruel, sadistic smile formed on his face. I decided he had to be a close partner of Anne's. I'd forgotten how many times I saw that exact same expression form over the ashes of a monster, or the last countenance as she towered over me with a gun aimed at my head.

"What would you give to see this cute little thing go free?" He flicked hair away from Sam's forehead with the barrel of the gun, and my heart broke when I heard her tense whimper. She was half out of the couch, hands still supporting her weight, with a gun playing with her face. And the gunman was making demands of the only person around who could protect her.

My heart's cracking noises must have been audible to the degenerate.

"Anything," I pleaded. "Just . . . just let her go."

His smile grew even more twisted, if possible. The TV flashed with the images of an action show - yet another distracted part of my brain chastised Sam for watching something exciting right before bed - and it provided a demented aura for our captor.

"Well," he droned. "How about we start with - ?"

His demands were cut short by the screeching of burning rubber, a shattering window, and a flying motorcycle as it collided with his head. His gun hand went up into the air, firing a meaningless shot into the roof, and he was lost under the tires of a daunting Harley.

The rider wasn't any less terrifying. Mindless of the body under his wheels, the black-leather wearing bad boy swung his leg over the side, boots crunching in the broken glass. He took off his helmet and set it on the handlebars, but he left the dark sunglasses covering his face on.

He chewed on gum while he sized up Sam. Considering the fact she'd almost been shot, I didn't fault her the shying away part. What I did fault her for was the trembling voice part. "W-who a-are y-you?"

The biker scoffed. "I could scare you with 'boo', couldn't I?" He shook his head. "Whelp. Alright, Jackson. Where are you?"

"Right here," I called, emerging from the bright glare of his headlights. "Olympus, Ares, what do you want?"

Ares smirked and removed his sunglasses, letting me see the rage-inducing fires framed by his eyeballs. "Ya know, I _did _just save your lives. A 'thank you, Lord Ares' is in order."

I clenched an unclenched my fists, fighting to keep the anger that never failed to come alive when I saw Ares in check. For a kid who had anger issues _before _he met the war god, that was really hard to do.

Unfortunately, Sam didn't know any better. "You just broke the entire freaking house!" she exaggerated. The back was still intact. "And now you come in here all superior and expect us to treat you like some sort of g - Did you say your name was Lord Ares?"

Ares snorted and jerked a thumb at Sam. "Slow one, here, ain't she? Whatever. You're the one I need to talk to."

Because my way around the couch was block by a mercenary's corpse and a god's motorcycle, I leapt over the couch and bounced off the cushion to Sam's side, clutching her next to me protectively. "You can speak your piece and leave, Ares. Thanks for helping us out, but we both now he was just blocking your entrance."

Ares propped himself on his bike and continued chewing obnoxiously on his gum. "Fine. Your dad wants your banished ass to hightail it to Olympus before the fifth or he's revoking your underwater privileges."

"We _are _talking about the same Poseidon, right?"

Ares started, settling on me with his fiery eyes. "Okay, you're getting better at calling my bluffs. Much better than when you were twelve."

"Oh!" I cried. "That reminds me. Has that ankle healed yet?"

"Long since," Ares said through gritted teeth. "Look, punk, I haven't got time for your mouthy antics, and . . . What are you doing?"

I'd shrunk Riptide back into pen form and now twirled it between my fingers, lifting the left corner of my mouth so to accentuate the jagged deformity ranging from my left eye to the corner of my mouth. Gratification surged through me when I saw the god of war pale ever so slightly at my display.

Sam looked smug beside me.

I shrugged, tucking the pen in my pocket. "Nothing, Ares. Just hanging on your every word. Now, cut to the chase so Sam and I can get out of here before the cops come."

Ares chuckled. "You've had your share of run-ins with the authorities, haven't you?"

I set my jaw and managed, "Yes. Now on with it."

"Your dad needs to talk to you about something that only concerns you, and it requires your ass on Olympus. Pronto."

"I thought it was 'ASAP' in the army."

"It's whatever I damn well want it to be! I'm the god of war!"

My face broke into a grin as Ares fumed at being thwarted. "Thanks for the heads-up, Ares. Tell Poseidon I'll be there before the fifth. Now get out."

Ares looked at me with such concentrated loathing I half-thought it was going to leap out of his sockets, take form and try to kill me.

Don't laugh. Stranger stuff has happened.

Finally, the god of war climbed back on his bike and kick-started it. With a few dramatic revs, he turned it, saying, "You might want to scram, punk. The cops are coming full-force."

And with that, he took off into the wall, bursting through before disappearing. Ares could have saved the further demolition and just _poofed _out like they all do, but being the god of conquest and carnage, he probably couldn't resist.

The all-too-familiar sound of sirens reached my ears and I grabbed Sam's arm, jerking my head toward the back. We scampered over the damaged furniture and sprinted out the back door, slinking away into darkness as authorities swarmed the house, megaphones blaring for us to come out unharmed and cooperative, and they wouldn't shoot.

"What was that about?" Sam hissed as we hid in the shadows of a child's playground while black-and-white cars raced past, suits canvassing the area.

"I don't know," I confessed. "But as a general rule of thumb, when the god of war drops by, it's never just for hello."

* * *

**This is the first chapter of the revamped and overhauled version of _A Forgotten Fear. _I will be starting a fresh story with the exact same plot as the original. However, there will be notable alterations to the plot-line, and veteran readers are advised to browse each chapter to pick up on new evolutions to plot.**

**I apologize for the horrible inconvenience, especially with the first draft so close to completion. Blame it on my state of mind at the moment, if you must: I am currently rewriting my original novel for most of the same reasons I am doing this. Namely: Several revelations were sloppy and ill-executed, my narrative was showing gradual degradation, and there was a sickening amount of TELL in the first few chapters of this. My attempts at integrating past events into the flow of the narrative were rather unsuccessful, I will confess, but I cannot find a bitter way of doing this. **

**I will try my hardest to make these updates prompt, especially as many of you are hanging on the last published chapter of the original draft. I suspect, by the time I reach that point again, you will have mostly forgotten it, and I apologize. But my perfectionist spirit cannot, in good conscience, allow such nonrepresentational garbage appear in my name without editing it. **

**And, as a side note: Any Community on this site who sees fit to include my work on their scores of stories is requested (more like ordered) to confer with me _before _including my work on their list of stories. I discovered, quite by accident as I fetched this chapter from the original work, that three Communities had used my work for their own means. Although significantly better than having some moron with a computer find my story and make a spin-off or some other atrocity as I've seen happen to so many wonderful stories on here, I take offense to having anything of mine converted or commercialized without my consent. **


	2. Chapter 2

**I forgot the disclaimer again?**

**All rights go to their respective owners. Whatever licensed, patented or alternatively owned references belong to those who those patents belong to. No copyright infringement intended. Primary rights go to Rick Riordan and Hyperion Books.**

* * *

Chapter Two: I Meet My Childhood Crush and Almost Get Her Killed

or

Sam Asks Too Many Questions

Three days later - two days before the fifth of August - Sam and I emerged from a taxi Madison Ave. & 34th St. to the bustling crowds of loudmouthed, aggravated, impatient New Yorkers as they shoved and bit their way to wherever they were going. The mishmash of respectable suits and casually dressed civilians was a sight I had grown used to in my early years, so it came as no surprise now.

And neither did the disdainful looks they shot me as I bent down to give the taxi driver his due. He thanked me for the change (I had no way to give him anything but dollars) and drove off, leaving Sam and I to brave the crowds alone.

"You know - " Sam grunted, trying to wedge herself between two immovable shoppers with more bags than anyone in their right mind should have lying around their house, let alone be carrying in the street. "_Chicago _was nicer than these people."

I grabbed her outstretched hand and yanked her from her prison. She stumbled into me, gasping words of thanks as I steadied her. "Sam, I am a New Yorker."

She looked confused.

I sighed. "Do you really think someone like _me _could be raised any place other than Inconsiderate Jerks, USA?"

Sam seemed to consider that for a moment before the throng started herding us the opposite direction as to wear we were headed, and we were forced to move.

"You see," I grumbled, dodging several commuters without a fault in my step. Sam, on the other hand, was falling back something fierce. "this is why I wanted to stay out of the way for rush hour. Everybody is fighting to get everywhere, and nothing gets accomplished."

"You're - the - one - who - wanted - to - walk." Sam gasped, having just been railroaded by what seemed to be a clique of high school girls just getting out of class. Or getting the before-school shopping out of the way, judging by the date and contents of their arms. Why was everybody shopping today?

I shrugged at Sam's question and decided that a hand on her back would help her a little. She didn't object and I cleared a somewhat reasonable path through the crowd. Although New Yorkers were notorious for their strong stomachs and undaunted attitudes, seeing an annoyed guy with rumpled clothes, a purplish cut on his face, and a general bad mood emanating from him is going to make _anyone _take the route of least resistance around him.

Finally, we reached the tall 600-story Empire State Building. Right - mortals think it's only 102, but that is exempting Mount Olympus from it. Very few people can see the mountain floating above the Empire State's peak, nestled in the clouds and echoing with the sounds of immortal mirth and The Muses's music.

Believe me. You haven't _lived _until you've heard The Muses play.

"So . . ." Sam stalled, waiting in front of the three old-fashioned doors as though expecting them to swing open of their own accord. "Do we ask permission?"

I suppressed a laugh. "Usually, yeah. But Zeus knows me."

Sam looked dubious. "Uh . . . When you says he 'knows you', do you mean that in a good or bad way?"

I winked at her and pressed open the door, stepping into the grand and very patriotic lobby. Down the long hallway was a solitary desk with a dignified woman in a uniform, handling paperwork for a young lady. She nodded at her, and the lady went to the elevator.

Something nagged me about the girl with paperwork, like I should recognize her. But I couldn't put my finger on it - How many blondes did I know? Way too many.

I shook my head and soldiered down the hall. Sam looked a lot less collected as she gaped at the American Flags hanging over her head and the intricate mural above the desk. Various monosyllable expressions of her disbelief slipped past her lips, like "Whoa", and "Oh my gods".

I sauntered up to the woman's desk, squinting at her name-tag. My dyslexia made it impossible to interpret, but I went by memory, saying, "Juliet?"

"Jasmine, actually," she said flippantly. I forgot her name constantly, so she didn't worry about it. "The Big Z mentioned something about you, Jackson. He's waiting." She handed me the key to turn in the elevator to reveal the button for the six-hundredth floor. "Oh, and I'd be careful. Ms. Chase just went up for some emergency adjustments to the architectural work."

My heart stopped beating altogether and I tried really hard not to panic.

It didn't work.

"Holy Olympus," I breathed. "I can't let her see me. Sam, hide me."

"Where?"

My charge raised a good point. There weren't many places to go here, and there were even less on Olympus itself. I scanned my surroundings, and, yes, I know I looked like a cornered animal, but _holy shit Annabeth is here! _

It is _not _too much to say I hate my life.

"Hey, Per - " I shot Sam a silencing glare and she held up her hands. "Eric, she probably won't recognize you. From what you've told me, you look completely different."

"Not enough," I insisted. "Not enough to fool her. Sam, you don't know that woman. She - She . . ."

"Delves into the depths of your soul with her ever-piercing eyes?" a bubbly voice asked from beside Jasmine's desk. I looked over to see a pretty redhead wearing a uniform that I was confidant was not military-regulated, with a low neckline and a tight navy skirt.

I groaned and buried my face in my hands, looking to the heavens while pleading for help from somebody who _wasn't _an Olympian. "Aphrodite," I grumbled. "First Ares, now you. I keep getting all the 'A' gods. So is it Athena or Artemis next?"

Aphrodite smirked. "Who knows? Don't worry about Annabeth, darling. I've got her occupied on the opposite end of Olympus with a delightful nature spirit."

I felt like I was hit with a six-ton tractor.

Aphrodite giggled. "Kidding. But she is working on my statue. Terrible malfunction with the automaton feature and it started trashing my temple. It was only supposed to fetch my cosmetics!"

I didn't really know what to say to that, so I changed the subject. "I don't care. I'm not going up there if Annabeth is working there at _all._"

"Your dad is not going to be happy," Aphrodite warned, slightly serious.

"I don't care. He can wait. Hera won't."

Aphrodite seemed to consider this before sighing and shrugging. "What can you say? I try, but everyone always messes up their own love lives." Aphrodite glanced up at me, and her eyes turned a little sympathetic. She reached out and touched my cheek. "Oh, you two deserve to be together. I just wish Hera would stop . . ." She caught herself, glancing heavenward. "Anyway, cheerios."

And Aphrodite was gone.

Jasmine shook her head, face buried in her palm. "Aphrodite is so flighty, you know?" She shrugged off her annoyance and took the key back, but then she noticed Sam, staring in awe where Aphrodite had been seconds before. "What? Never seen a god before?"

"One," Sam breathed, unblinking. "He ran over the guy who was trying to kill me with a motorbike."

"Ares?" Jasmine questioned me, apparently giving up on the awestruck preteen. I nodded. "Now I know what that other comment was. I tend to shut up when gods come around, mostly because they don't want to hear from me. I'm just clear-sighted."

"Wait," I said as a guy in a uniform walked up and handed Jasmine paperwork. "You can see through the Mist? I thought Rachel and my mom were the only ones."

"Please," Jasmine discounted, rolling her eyes as she shuffled through the stack of papers she'd been given. "They're just the ones who made names for themselves. There's a bunch of us. Most of us are committed to mental institutions and the rest are smart enough to keep their months shut. I got lucky and landed this gig because I did some time with Uncle Sam. Fact is, we're more common than you think." She paused, reading the title of one of the sheets before groaning and setting it in a different pile. "The gods just don't want you to know that."

I snapped my fingers in front of Sam's face to bring her back to reality. "Seriously? Whoa, I honestly didn't see that coming."

"What?" she challenged. "Did you think I was a daughter of Nyx or somebody unimportant?" I flinched at "unimportant". My dying wish, as far as the rest of the world was concerned, was to see that all demigods received equal attention from their unobservant godly parents and recognition for what they in their name. But now people were still throwing the minor gods' names around like they didn't matter, angering them even further.

Did they want another war?

"No," I said distractedly. "It's just - "

Suddenly, the elevator dinged open and a familiar blonde-haired girl stepped out, carrying what appeared to be blueprints in her arms. She walked over to Jasmine and handed her a few of the papers. "I stapled them so you didn't have to bother with it," Annabeth assured her. "Sorry I can't help more, but I have to get back. The kids will be unbearable by now."

Kids? a small part of my brain questioned. Annabeth was already a mother?

"Don't worry about it," Jasmine smiled after seeing my expression. "I bet the chaos that is Camp Half-Blood is doing just fine without you, preschoolers and all."

I breathed an inward sigh of relief. It was just Camp Half-Blood, integrating . . . preschoolers? Yikes. Ankle-biters for everyone.

I shook off the thought of Clarisse la Rue challenged a five year to a spear fight and losing when the small child hugged her knees together. It was enough to make me laugh to myself.

Unfortunately, that laugh escaped and Annabeth's blissful ignorance of my existence turned to curiosity. She studied me, looking slightly repulsed by the cut on my face. "Hello," she greeted uncertainly, holding out her hand. "I'm Annabeth. Have I seen you somewhere around before?"

_Shit, _I thought. _She recognizes me. Run! _But I remained calm, despite every instinct in my body ordering me to run. I shook her hand disinterestedly. "Yeah . . . you don't know me. I'm pretty sure you'd remember my face."

"I'm going to take that as a reference to the . . . curious mark on your face and not a failed pick-up line," Annabeth told me, grasping my hand firmly and making me meet her eyes. "Truly . . . I've never seen anything quite like it, and I have my share of experience with injuries."

"War?" Sam pipped in, leaning forward. I could see mischievousness twinkling in her eyes when she winked at me. What was she trying to do?

Annabeth's eyes darkened. "Something like that."

"Did you have to kill anybody?"

I gaped at Sam. She might be acting the tactless little kid, but she wasn't; not by a long shot. What, in the name of all of Zeus's concubines, was she doing?

Annabeth looked affronted. "That is not a question for civilized company," she chastised. "but if you must know, yes. I had to resort to lethal means." Before Sam could open her month, Annabeth added, "And I lost a few very - " Her voice caught. "I lost a few friends as well. Curiosity is always an admirable trait, but only with discretion, and I would appreciate if you used some right now." Annabeth struck out her hand to Sam too. "I'm Annabeth."

"Louisa," Sam lied, perfectly chipper. "Sorry if I made you feel bad."

"It's fine," Annabeth dismissed. Then she looked up at me and I cursed The Fates. Why was she still here? Go back to Camp. Stop taunting Hera right underneath her _freaking throne. _"Is she yours?"

"No," I said instantly, annoyed that even Annabeth thought Sam was my daughter. "She's my little sister." It was a reasonable lie; Sam did look to be my younger female counterpart in the right light.

"And your name?"

"Lieutenant Jefferson," Jasmine called suddenly, motioning over a security guard. He hurried over at her request. "See that Ms. Chase gets a decent cab in this traffic. Drive her yourself, if you have to." She turned to me. "We really shouldn't keep our architectural advisor waiting, now should we?" Her eyes sparkled with tons of "You owe me". "Ms. Chase, sorry for the inconvenience. They are just checking out the building."

Annabeth nodded, shaking Jasmine's hand politely. "A pleasure as always, Jasmine. I'll see you next time one of the bosses needs an adjustment."

Jasmine snorted. "Yeah, maybe next time it will be for their heads."

A rumble of thunder in the clear blue sky told them to stop the conversation. Annabeth looked uncertain, waving farewell to Jasmine before hastening out the door, the guard rushing behind her. I noticed she was wearing heels and a skirt. I tried not to stare.

"You're staring," Sam informed me, and I chalked it up to a failed attempt.

"Thanks, Jasmine," I said, taking the key back from her. "I seriously owe you for that."

"Don't mention it," she waved. "But you might want to keep a gag on the little squirt. Did you even tell her?"

"What needs to be told," I said before I realized that, for all Sam's patient silence, she was still standing right beside me. It was easy to forget about her if she wasn't speaking; her height was a serious disadvantage. I loved her dearly, but it was so easy with the dwarf jokes.

Sam scowled at my unintentional confession, but I gave her a firm shake of the head. She opened her mouth to object, but I hardened my gaze and she stared at the desk angrily.

"Then just make sure she doesn't say the really wrong thing at the really wrong time, okay?" Jasmine returned to paperwork. "Whether she's related to you or not, she's still your responsibility. And that responsibility could get a lot of people killed."

"Don't remind me," I grumbled, grabbing Sam's arm firmly before she could protest. "We're going to have a little talk later. Now come on."

Once alone in the elevator (we had to wait a few turns), I fed the key in and pressed the button that read: _600. _Sam beside me, I listened to _Total Eclipse of the Heart _by Bonnie Tyler and tried not to rip my hair out. What was it with this elevator and the 80's? I felt like it pissed off Apollo so he cursed it with some of the weirdest music known to mankind.

"You were treating me like I was five," Sam grumbled, leaning against the elevator indignantly.

I glanced down at her and sighed, resigning myself to the argument. "You tried to start a fight, Sam. What was a supposed to do? Slap you on the hand? You know what would have happened if Annabeth . . ."

"Aphrodite said something about you belonging with her," Sam cut in suddenly, looking up at me. "Is that true?"

I avoided her eyes. "I sometimes like to think so," I admitted. "But that doesn't change anything. Hera's threats are still very real and very dangerous, Sam, and if Annabeth . . ."

"Do you love her?"

"Holy Olympus!" I roared, turning on her. "I was wondering about your ADHD before, but now I know there is no way you can _ever _focus on the important thing."

Sam paled and shied into the corner. "I'm sorry," she said instantly, and the tremor in her voice sobered me. "I didn't mean . . . I was just . . ." Tears welled in her eyes, and I felt a self-directed hate surge inside of me. Three days ago, a gun was held at her head, and I expected Sam to be perfect and pristine when _I _almost screwed everything up.

I cursed myself an crouched down, opening my arms. "Come here," I prompted. Sam looked unsure. "I'm sorry about screaming at you. I panicked is all. Annabeth . . . It was really dangerous and, yes, stupid what you did, but I forgive you. She didn't realize anything. We're safe. Now will you come here?"

Sam melted into my arms. That was one of the things I loved so much about Sam: Although she was spunky and defiant most of the time, she trusted me enough to be vulnerable and scared, and that was a fragile, sweet side of her that I actually enjoyed seeing. It reminded me that Hera hadn't succeeded in completely turning my heart to charcoal.

Dry sobs wet my shirt, but I didn't mind.

"I was so scared with the gun," she whispered. "I thought I was going to die, and then he was going to kill you. And right after . . . I thought it wasn't okay to be scared, with everything that happened."

"It's always okay to be scared," I told her. "but sometimes you have to wait. But when we were asleep on that bus, you could have woken me up. We could have talked."

Sam nodded. She sniffled and wiped her tears on her sleeve, constricting my airflow for a second by doing so. I choked.

"I wanted to find out about her, you know?" Sam explained, and I knew she meant Annabeth. "Because she seems so important to you, and I wanted to know why. I'm sorry if I made you mad."

I let Sam pull away from me and focused on her eyes. Most of the time, she sounded twice her age, but when the tears came, she was reduced to half that, scared and anxious and always afraid of being hit, thanks to her abusive foster mother. Her real one died in childbirth and left a will explaining to the adoptive parents that Sam was a demigod. Unfortunately, said foster family didn't think having a supernatural kid was cool, so they tried to bludgeon it out of her.

When I tried to give her a baseball bat for self-defense, she turned the color of snow and kicked me in the shin. That was after two days of traveling together. Even now, I wasn't allowed to raise a fist near her unless there was a monster. I had no problem adhering to that rule.

"You didn't make me mad," I confessed. "Sam, Hera made me angry. You've got to understand that it isn't you. It's her. I'm mad at _her _for what she did to me." My shoulders lightened and I hugged Sam close just as the elevator dinged. The doors quaked apart, but I didn't let go of Sam. "I guess I should thank her, though."

"What?" Sam managed wetly.

"If it wasn't for my banishment, I wouldn't have met you."

Sam pulled away and swatted me playfully. I rubbed her arm regretfully, hoping it showed in my eyes. "You are _so _cliche, Percy. It's excruciating just listening to you _speak._"

I smirked and ruffled her short hair, something she didn't appreciate. Then I came to my feet -

- and immediately fell to my knees.

With a laurel atop dark hair and her signature spear in hand, Athena glowered at my kneeling form. Once again, I realized it was an "A" god, but I chose not to voice it.

"Wise," Athena praised indifferently, but I couldn't tell if she meant the biting of my tongue or my bowing. "My daughter was here mere minutes ago. You just missed her."

"No, I didn't," I said hollowly. "I met her in the lobby."

"Yes," Athena agreed, as though I'd answered a question correctly. "And it went ill."

"Not that badly, My Lady Athena."

I could tell Athena was happier with me. Happier, not happiest. She still loathed me because I was the illegitimate son of her rival, Poseidon, and that hatred was even more intense because I had befriended her daughter when I was a kid. But still - after I refused the gods's offer of immortality, she started to respect my intellect a little more. Even so, she was the one goddess on Olympus who I would _never _talk back to. Save for Hera, but that was for other reasons.

"The formalities can be dispensed with, Jackson. They are needless. Please, stand. I grow weary of staring down at you."

I rose to my feet hesitantly and looked Athena in her tumultuous grey eyes, nearly identical to her daughter's. Except Annabeth's were a brighter shade, more silver, and they shined with mirth on occasion. Athena never showed any emotion beside disdain and indifference. Unless you counted loathing. That was one, too.

I noticed Sam, still kneeling next to me. I nudged her up when Athena gave her a dark glare. "Forgive her," I said quickly. "She's still new to this."

"Only so much forgiveness can be awarded to one of poor knowledge," Athena hissed. "Eventually, an amateur must learn how to behave like a veteran. Did you know that, Ms. Fisher?"

Sam didn't even look taken aback by Athena's use of her last name. A sudden change in her demeanor shocked me before she spoke - her spine was straighter and she looked her usual proud self. And then her voice carried with more authority than I had heard from her in mixed company. "Certainly, Lady Athene. Pardon me my ignorance, but I will make a concerted effort to learn the intricacies of Olympus." Sam gave an awkward curtsy, considering she didn't wear a skirt.

Athena looked impressed. "Very well put, Ms. Fisher," she said. "but do try to lessen the 'kiss-assery' as you will. I don't take well to sycophants."

Athena turned on her heel and headed straight for the double doors leading to the Olympian throne room, bursting through them with equal parts humility and grandeur. Her emotionless voice boomed, "They have arrived."

We were expected.

"Come on, Sam," I told her. "Let's go brave the lions."

"One really quick thing," Sam said, looking up at me. I arched an eyebrow. "What's a sycophant?"

* * *

**Because I feel obligated to say this on my behalf, I really don't believe 80's music is the weirdest of mankind. Most of it is my favorite. But there are some strange songs that I don't understand, and _Total Eclipse of the Heart _is one of them. Romance songs that aren't upbeat usually bore me.**

**For those of you who don't already know or haven't figured it out from the context clues, a sycophant is something who goes through a lot of trouble to kiss up to someone else. They are typically annoying.**

**Thank you.**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Two: My Dysfunctional Olympian Family Makes Mayhem

One thing was certain: Athena had made the right decision when she appointed Annabeth Chase as the Architect of Olympus.

It had been three years since I'd laid eyes upon Olympus, and the last time it hadn't been on request. I'd been blinded by a string of unwelcome images and a failing body, so sight-seeing wasn't one of the thing on my mind. Now, however, with Sam by my side and feeling in proportionately better health, I couldn't help but gape at the feats around me.

When I was twelve, I thought Olympus was awesome, with all the lively music and hearty laughter - at least after I returned the bolt to Zeus. But Annabeth had taken it to a whole new level, Americanizing Greece in such a way as to _fit _with the evolution of the gods. The columns were still very much Greek, as were most of the structures. It was difficult to explain and I imagine it would be ten times as difficult to imagine, but the best way I think to put it is . . .

Imagine the oldest, most intact city in Greece, with the stone buildings that had already been rebuilt in the image of their original design and trees and nature all around. Then imagine a place like New York, with a bunch of people, a million roadways, and shopfronts wherever you turned. Combine those two, and you had the new Olympus.

There was a garden where I saw a pretty, familiar woman tending to her flowers. She had long black hair with a brightly colored sundress. I recognized her as Persephone instantly, and to my surprise, she looked up from her task and waved at me, smiling warmly.

I waved back, unsure of whether I should bow. But then she returned to watering a plant and forgot my existence.

There were shopfronts with various god-inclined stuff - _Hephaestus Armor and Jewelry, Half-off. Pearls from the necklace of Amphritrite _(I'd actually met my godly stepmother one time, and I was fairly sure that was a scam. A belief that was encouraged when I saw a god behind the shop that looked suspiciously like Hermes.) and _Athenian Laptops - Hack into the tightest mortal security and make them worship you! _

I tried not to think about how many Code-Threes at the Pentagon had just been a minor god playing around with their computer.

Shopkeepers tried to sell me ambrosia, and I accepted a few squares for an overpriced thirteen drachmas, but it was the only place to get more unless I wanted to wait until I reached my safe house in Ohio. Albany was closer, but that was a memory I was loath to return to.

They gave Sam a free ice cream cone, too, after having conjured it out of nothing. I had to grill them to make sure it didn't have nectar in it, because if it did, it would dry her from the inside out. Luckily, it was normal and I let her lick to her heart's content.

Minor gods and goddesses watched me pass, some of them looking pleased to see me while others followed me with icy stares. Overtime, I had enraged a fair share of immortals and those immortals had friends. I'd also placated and appeased a pretty good amount, so some of the gods - like Hecate, who forgave me the death of her son and thanked me for recognizing him. Deimos, however, who was shopping for Hephaestus' armor, was less than thrilled to see me after I made an idiot out of him in Staten Island when he tried to get a friend of mine, Clarisse, in trouble with her dad.

It seemed like a long walk, but eventually Sam and I reached the intricately-carved double doors leading to The Throne Room.

"Alright," I hissed at Sam. "Whatever you do, don't make them any angrier than they're bound to be. Pay attention to Zeus, keep an eye on Hera, and if Artemis is in there, the Hunt is not all it's cracked up to be."

"Huh?"

I shook my head and squeezed Sam against me for a second before releasing her. "Let me do the talking, okay?"

Sam swallowed and gave me a terse nod. I touched her shoulder and she looked up at me, seeing a smile that I tried my best to make comforting, despite the deformity marring my features. She looked dejected and took my hand, squeezing it tightly. "Be brave," I told her. "We both know you already are."

Sam managed a shy smile of thanks before I pushed the right door open and sauntered inside.

Six Olympians waited for me on the other side, all but one dignified and comported. Hermes, however, was reclining in his La-Z-Boy throne, chilling out to his own tunes, likely off Apollo's iPod. He scrambled to a somewhat decorous position, but although he was one of the few gods whose existence I tolerated, nobody prided him on poise. He yanked the earphones out of his ears and shoved them under his butt, must to the disappointment of his father, Zeus, who sat beside my father, Poseidon, and Hera, The Immortal Bitch of Olympus and Queen of the Gods.

My father looked nervous, twirling his immobilized trident in its holder at the side of his throne, an uncharacteristically uncertain smirk on his face. He had unkempt ink hair like me with the eyes of the ocean as well, wearing Bermuda shorts and an unprofessional pair of sandals garbing his feet. Of the elder male gods, Poseidon was regularly the most relaxed, but today he was tense and jumpy like Artemis had turned him into a jackalope recently.

Conversely, Zeus and his wife were as impassive as rocks. Well, Hera had a faint smile tugging on the corners of her mouth, just to tell me she knew about the near-miss in the lobby. She _always _knew about my near-misses, and after times she appeared to me so she could exploit them and make me do something to "appease her". So it is understandable why a rage built inside of me when I saw the collected teenage girl with a braid of chocolate hair.

Athena and Aphrodite sat next to each other, and neither of them looked thrilled about the seating arrangement. Then again, Aphrodite was preoccupied with her reflection, so I doubted she noticed much.

I sunk to one knee before the brazier, head bowed and guarding my face from the blast of heat. "Lord Zeus," I called over the crackling flames. "Lord Poseidon sent for me to be here before the fifth."

"Indeed," Zeus concurred. "And you will address my brother as father."

I took a deep breath before replying, having to fight to keep my voice level and my words cautious. "He is the Lord Poseidon, Your Majesty. I do not see the discrepancy."

"My father is merely angered because Thalia Grace has not spoken with him explicitly since after The Titan War," Athena said frankly. "It is a sensitive subject for him, by all accounts."

"That will be all, Athena," Zeus snapped.

The goddess of wisdom gave me a knowing smile and settled into her throne without another word. Despite her lack of objection, I knew she wasn't a total daddy's girl; nobody with brains like Athena's would listen to a douche like Zeus for their whole lives. I shot her a thankful and she nodded her acknowledgement but said nothing. Her silence warned me to guard my tongue; today was dangerous waters to be swimming through on Olympus, apparently.

Poseidon piped in then, leaning forward on his throne with a tentative smile. "Son," he began. I flinched and turned my attention to him. I could feel Sam watching for for clues what to do. I jerked my thumb at Athena and, thank the gods, Sam understood and turned her attention to the warrior in the room. Meanwhile, Poseidon was attempting to make me give a damn about his immortal existence. "I apologize for having to send Ares, but most were indisposed and . . ."

"It turned out for the best," I shrugged, forgetting myself and cutting him off. "It was a good call, I guess. That motorcycle of his saved our lives."

Poseidon frowned like he didn't understand what I was talking about. "Excuse me? How?"

"The gunman," I said flippantly. "He ran him over before he could shoot Sam." My father's eyes widened into very angry, very fast moving orbs. The sea raged in their depths. I winced. "You didn't know." It wasn't a question.

Poseidon pressed his lips together, narrowing his eyes into the distance before calling, "Hebe!"

A split second later, a little girl _maybe _older than Sam appeared, holding up a golden chalice to my father. "You are no longer cupbearer," Zeus told her in a clipped tone. "My brother sent for for another reason."

Without a moment's hesitation, she came to her feet, still the visage of a little girl. Poseidon eyed her carefully before sighing and rubbing his temples. "I want you to escort Samantha Fisher to the aquarium and stay with her there until I send for you again. Also, tell Ares to hurry here the minute he decides to tell me when my son's life is threatened."

I had rarely heard my father's voice so angry, save for when I sat on his throne to get his attention when I was fifteen.

Hebe seemed to notice his vocal strain too, because she nodded without hesitation and skipped over to Sam, helping her onto her feet and leading her away.

Sam resisted, yanking her hands from the minor goddess's grasp. "But, my Lord Poseidon, I want to stay."

"This is not a matter for the unclaimed and unkempt," Zeus growled. "And, daughter," he said, addressing Hebe. "See that she is given a half-decent pair of clothes. Despite my best efforts, Jackson remains unwashed, but I won't have yet another trekking dirt around."

"Lighten up, dad," Hermes interjected, spreading his hands. "Come on, you're starting to sound like Terminus. And I haven't heard from him in - what is it? A hundred years?"

Zeus groaned and freed his hand from Hera's grasp, pressing against the bridge of his noise with his fingers. "If you compare me to that infuriating statue one more time . . ."

I stifled a laugh. Often times, understanding the altercations that broke out on Olympus was impossible for mortals, but it was still funny to watch the pure _humanity _of a bunch of almighty beings bicker with one another over who washes the laundry.

I turned to Hebe with a smile. "Getting her some fresh clothes would be nice." I looked down at Sam and jerked my head out the door. "This might not be pretty. So go."

Sam opened her mouth to argue, but Hermes's comeback to his dad of, "Maybe I'd stop if you actually got _laid _again . . ." turned her bright red and she hurried out the door.

I bit my lip hard to keep from bursting with laughter. When I turned around, I saw that both Zeus and Hera were infuriated. So the terrifying king of the gods had a case of the blue balls?

I might hate the gods, but I had no qualms with hanging out with them so I had blackmail material.

I propped my weight on the brazier, not feeling up to kneeling again, and cleared my throat. As was to be expected, Zeus and Hermes weren't bothered by my presence in their throne room and continued bellowing at each other.

"If that was any of your business . . ."

"You were, like, the _stud _of Olympus back when you were young. Come _on, _you're only a couple millennia! Get some action again! The pact is over."

Hera was the color of cherry wood.

"I am _married, _Hermes," Zeus retorted, settling back into his throne when he saw his wife's expression.

"Like that's stopped you any time before."

My dad fell off his throne laughing.

"That is _enough, _Poseidon," Zeus growled, but my dad waved him off and winked at me. I turned my attention to Athena.

The goddess of wisdom stared at her father and half-brother, completely aghast. She tapped her spear impatiently, as though debating the strategically advantages of launching it at one of them. I would have paid to see that.

Aphrodite, however, was having about as much fun as Poseidon, exempting the whole falling off the throne thing. She kept trying to apply lipstick, but convulses of laughter interrupted. She squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head.

Finally, I decided I had places to be before the next century (which was about when Hermes would stop calling his father a prude) and hollered, "You know, and I thought Camp Half-Blood had been childish."

Zeus froze, settling on me with burning irises. They weren't aflame like Ares was, but still; I was afraid he was going to shoot lightning bolts at me.

Seeing that his father was no longer game, Hermes returned to his throne, sticking his tongue out at me on the way. Definitely never matured.

Poseidon gave me a fleeting grin before settling into his seat, but I ignored it. His expression fell.

"You were saying something about not knowing about the gunman?" I prompted the gathered immortals in general, crossing my arms and waiting for somebody to bring everyone back on topic.

"Indeed," Athena confirmed. "Ares returned after handling a minor dispute in Ethiopia last night and we received no word about this unfortunate incident." Her expression did not change from indifferent when she said "unfortunate" and I doubted the word was anything more than a convenient adjective to placate my father, who glowered at Athena coldly.

Holy Clotho, those two needed to get over themselves.

"What happened?" Poseidon asked sensitively.

"We were squatting in a foreclosed home and somebody went after us, but they weren't the homeowner or a neighbor." I had no problems confessing the crime to the gods as they didn't exist to enforce mortal law and, really, Sam and I were tired of the alleyways we always bunked in. The gods looked intrigued by the tag to my explanation, and I smiled warmly at each of them in turn, finally letting my eyes fixate on my father before turning them cold and hard. "When were you going to tell me Anne McCartney had a partner?"

The room went quiet.

"I thought so," I scoffed, pushing off the brazier hard enough to tip it dangerously. Before it fell over, Athena waved a hand and righted it. I blew off her look of admonishment. "You'd think after _everything _you people have done to me, you'd bother yourselves with _one _little tip-off? So I was forewarned in case, you know, somebody tries to blow a hole through Sam's head!" I motioned out the door, raising my voice at the end. I calmed myself down before exploding again. "It is bad enough that you _let _me get close to that bitch, but then you don't tell me she has backup? And that she hasn't stopped hunting?"

Poseidon and Aphrodite looked ashamed, a little bit of remorse colored Hermes's features. But the other three were still rocks.

I rolled my eyes. "Somebody _could _say something right about now. It would definitely alleviate some of the gods-dammed pressure."

"Your language is not conducive to a professional meeting," Athena warned.

"I was never very professional," I snapped back. "and sailor is in my blood." I shot a scathing look at my father, whose hopeful expressions had turned somewhat dark and solemn. "But my points stands. Why didn't you tell me Anne had a partner."

"Partners," my father sighed, looking like he'd relented. The Throne Room settled cold gazes on him but he continued. "We don't know much, just that there are many of them. Several defected there after The Titan War."

I frowned. "Many of who?"

Poseidon's gaze turned even more sorrowful and regretful. "Demigod assassins."

I let out of small whistle of air, running my fingers through my hair and trying to comprehend the gravity of that. "Are we talking a network in Manhattan? That's where I met Anne, anyway." But as soon as I said that, I thought about the news, with a Vermont Senator being killed and a familiar-looking coin. "Maybe nationwide?"

Poseidon shook his head. "I wish we knew," he admitted, exchanging a hesitant look with Hera. To my surprise, the Queen of the Gods averted her eyes. "but they have interfered with Olympian matters before. Some of them, from what I understand, are redeemable, but . . ."

"They're murderers," I snapped, eyes flashing. I pulled the hourglass hilt from behind my back - plain wood curved to conform to your hand with a clear covering to avoid splintering. A thin, one-and-a-half foot blade unfurled from the guard-less hilt; simplistic and simply deadly. I tossed the dagger at my father's feet. "All I know is that Anne loved that knife and that I was not the first blood it had. She could have killed me, Lord Poseidon. She _would _have killed me if that witness hadn't warned me. There is no _redeeming _her from killing innocents. There is no redeeming her from killing."

My father's expression went blank and the knife flew back into my hand upon his will. I sheathed it again, tucking it under my shirt. The gods watched me, none of them saying a word.

I felt a chill run up my spine. "What did you hear?" I breathed.

"About why we brought you here - " Zeus began hastily, but I cut him off.

"Why did you hear?"

No one said a word. The immortals held their breath, literally, and their faces betrayed no emotion. Mine, however, was less impassive.

I could feel a familiar rage build in my chest. Once again, after five years, they were lying to me. Pretending to be ignorant, not to know what was going on. Even though they had a prophecy, and likely one that affected me. Whether I was a player or not, it affected me.

I stormed up to Zeus's throne, fuming with the type of power that made the small aquarium in the corner - the one that housed the Ophiotaurous, Bessie (who was actually a guy) - boil. I quieted my anger for the sake of the small sea creature, but the Olympians looked really shaken up. Anyone who killed Bessie and sacrificed her entrails had the power to overthrow the gods, and even though I would never hurt her, it was nice to see the cold terror on their faces.

"The last time you kept a prophecy from me, it started a war!" I looked to Athena, placing a hand only partway up her throne because she dwarfed me in her godly form. "Is it wise to do this _now? _Really?"

"No," Athena conceded, looking up at Hera. "but I have no say."

Needless to say, I turned on the Queen of the Gods next. "You've taken all I've got from me and now you're hiding secrets. Haven't you messed up my life enough? Haven't you taken enough?"

Hera was unafraid. "The antidote you require every month is in short supply," she monotoned. "We need divine apple juice in order to create a fresh batch. Hecate herself makes it."

I clenched my fists. "Fine. I'll go get you some divine apples, now - Wait, divine apples?"

A slight smile darkened Hera's face and she nodded. "Indeed, Mr. Jackson. The Apples of Hesperides. My wedding present." She shot a scathing look to Zeus, who preoccupied himself with his Master Bolt. I might have been frightened if I didn't have bigger fish - or nymphs - to fry.

"Whoa," I said, holding up my hands. "First off: _So _unoriginal. Second off: Hades no!" I whirled on my father. "Get your own stinking apples! Those nymphs have _not _forgotten me, you can bet your bottom dollar. It's suicide on that mountain. I am not going after - "

"Good luck, Mr. Jackson," Hera interrupted, and my father gave me a plaintive look. "Oh, and if you manage to slay Ladon, the spoils of war might be very rewarding."

"I am not going to - "

And the world turned upside down.


	4. Chapter 4

**I do apologize for the needlessly long wait. Writer's block impaired my creative juices once again and impeded a very important dynamic-setter. This is a flashback chapter meant to clarify points that might have eluded readers before and still keep a degree of vagueness to the story. I hope the next chapter will be up sooner, but I cannot promise before Wednesday.**

**Despite the delayed update, I hope you enjoy.**

**And, P.S. I have received very few reviews for this draft but quite a few followers and favorites. I would appreciate it if some of you would take time after reading to leave a brief critique, even if it is nothing more than a flawed sentence I overlooked in editing. Half-asleep midnight writing and editing is not conducive to a flawless piece of literature - I would appreciate some feedback immensely.**

**A massive thanks to _SonofThetis _(awesome name, by the way), _rosee-1518, _and the anonymous reviewer who left the name _Alice _for leaving me reviews. And an even bigger thanks for actually putting a little bit of thought into what you were saying as opposed to regurgitating the cliched "Great story" stuff I've received since I started posting stories. Please keep reviewing and I hope soon you guys won't be the only ones._  
_**

Chapter Three: Where Reminiscing Goes Horribly Wrong

**Yet another reason** to adamantly despise Hera and her puppet Olympians: Their unfailing ability to teleport you places you don't want to be.

Mount Orthys - the transported mountaintop that once existed in Greece but now lies hidden upon Mt. Tamalpais in California - has never been a welcoming place. I still remembered driving up the mountain on a quest to save Artemis (okay, I was after Annabeth) and seeing the condensing storm clouds, the white ship docking on the harbor by the cliff as monsters amassed. My heart grew heavy when I remembered Zoe Nightshade, the daughter of Atlas who died defying her father and at the sneers of her sisters, gazing from a distance. Nameless and faceless in the myths. **  
**

I looked heavenward, but it was morning out, not that you could see through the heavy clouds. It looked like it wanted to rain and rain hard. Violent gusts ripped my clothes back and forth, their already tattered fabric unable to take the abuse. Part of my shirt caught the wind and flew into the distance. I staggered, bracing my weight against a large black rock and I squinted against the chilly tempests. My eyes watered from the chill, goosebumps spreading up my arms and legs.

Trepidation lengthened with the shadows. I cast paranoid looks every which way. Occasionally, the wind would launch something like a tree branch into the air and shatter it across the rocks, or something like a wolf howl would fill my ears and I'd keep my eyes peeled for lycanthropes prowling about the mountainside, eager to ambush a lone half-blood. A peculiar flash of light or shadow stilled my heart for long enough to face it before it revealed itself to be my nerves and nothing more.

Riptide grew heavy in my palm and cut through the darkness to about three feet in front of me. My awkward movements took on a degree more grace now that I could navigate the immediately vicinity and my sword served excellent use as a cane. I cracked the rock with it, digging it between crevasses to leverage myself up the slope.

My breath became erratic as time wore on and my paranoia worsened. A roaring clap of thunder echoed through my ears and suddenly, I wasn't on Mount Orthys anymore.

The sound of a whip snapping again and again filled my ears. My nerves were all dead now, shut down by the body's last attempt at maintaining some semblance of sanity as my warden and tormentor cackled behind me, the visage of terror and mania. Prisoners milled to and fro, bound and branded as the fugitives of Tartarus. Men, women and child shuffled their feet under the encouragement of monsters, beings who, by right, should have been the ones shackled. A symphony of screams, wails, and torture devices filled the air in a steady, unceasing rhythm as the entire place chanted:

_One, two, three and four;_

_watch them crumple to the floor._

_Five, six, seven, eight;_

_ain't it fun to watch them break?_

_Count to nine, then to ten,_

_There is no out once you're in._

My teeth ground together. I hadn't sung that demented rhyme yet and I wouldn't start now.

But then the dark magic of Tartarus weaved through the lacerations on my back and healed them, nerves once again tingling with sensation. The Torturer - my pale-faced and unrelenting persecutor - convulsed with laughter as the whip sunk into my back once more, twice more, three times . . .

"Stop!" I cried, blinded by tears as my knees buckled and I fell, arms tied to a super-heated bar and scorching my skin. "Please." My sobs were not prideful or quiet. They were loud, anguished, and added a new chord to the harmony of the tormented.

The Torturer called to one of the monstrous guards and shoved the whip in his hands before crouching down to my level. He lifted my chain, making me meet his black eyes, and curled two pale pink lips into a smile. Cream-white skin juxtaposed by rivers of ink through his veins, winding along from his eyes, a long one across his forehead. Hairless, wretched.

"You have been my strongest in a while," he complimented. "I am so _happy _you were suggested. Now, will you tell me your name?"

I spit in his eye, sagging limply against the bar. "Never," I croaked, throat cracking from dehydration. It was so hot down here. So blisteringly hot.

The Torturer's face shifted from pleased psychopathy to raging impatience. "I am The Ancient Fear, boy!" he hissed and his voice silenced the symphony. "You are not the first to defy me and you will not be the first to deny me. You will tell me your name if I have to etch scars into you until I carve the letters from your flesh and your tears. You will confess to me if I have to hunt every mortal you care about and drive them mad in front of you." He paused, lips curling again. "Including that luscious blonde you fight for."

I blinked, almost too delirious to understand what he was talking about. But then it dawned on me - golden curls in a ponytail, fierce eyes like a storm, lithe like a panther.

I shook my head. "You can't," I wheezed. My shoulders felt like they were being pulled by their sockets. I didn't have enough energy to support my own two feet and they were being weighed down. I felt unconsciousness heavy on the edges of my gaze, but The Torturer would never allow rest. Not for his favorite new toy. "You have to kill them first."

He chortled. "Yes, yes, I do, don't I? And you won't be around to save her, will you?" He rose to his feet and snapped his fingers. Three guards rushed over and undid my binds, hauling me by the hair back to my stone-erected prison. The walls went from white hot to frosty white in seconds, cold enough to still burn the skin. They threw me in through the narrow sliver of an escape and I lunged with one last ounce of strength at the exit, but it started to seal again.

The Torturer face was washed out with another wall of white. Battered by hail until it receded from my mind's eye.

I was crumpled over the rocks of Mount Orthys, feeling dead in every fiber of my being. Riptide was limp in my right hand and I was on my back. Phantom pain arched through my body, duller than it had been in the flashback but still very much there.

Tears were swept away with rainwater and I laid there, staring at the midnight heavens and trying to figure out why now, of all times, I would suffer a flashback. They were often erratic, but most of the times I could identify some sort of trigger in the aftermath. There was nothing. The thunder had been a deep, rumbling sound while the whip was short and piercing.

But nonetheless, my mind had carried me back to my eternal prison. And whether there was rhyme or reason to it was irrelevant; I was still splayed over the mountain, tears diluted by the rain, eyes crusty as they gazed heavenward.

Lethargy. Purposelessness. Emptiness. Hollowness. My fingers twitched subconsciously and I rolled my head, eyes stinging from the rain. Something pleaded with me to stand up, that if I didn't I would die. I told it _so what? _Silence.

For a drawn-out period of time, all there was the rain. The rain and my shallow breathing. I let my eyes flutter shut and began to descend into a fitful sleep, the warm tendrils of hopelessness bringing about a different type of fear, a dispassionate dread the came when everything else served no other purpose. It was the calmness that came from the longing to die and to end it all, the quiet subservience that had overwhelmed me once - no, twice - before. Neither time had been my own perseverance or doggedness that won through the darkness; it had been something to fight for in the midst of nothingness.

The first time had been Anne McCartney. At the time, she was Emily Richardson to me, shy daughter of Demeter with a reluctant knife hand and a warm, reassuring laugh. I recalled her dark hair, sweeping over her shoulders and contrasting starkly against her clammy complexion, whiter than sea foam on a stormy day. Vampire-like, I'd joked one time. I found her when I slumped in the car garage beside The Empire State Building, my moments of vengeful anger against Olympus depleted so utterly that I collapsed. She screamed from farther inside, calling for help, and I raced to her aid, one more purpose in life to complete. I vanquished the monsters trying to kill her and took her on as my traveling companion, taught her how to survive. Defended her. Loved her.

And, in exchange, she swindled and lied to me. She double-crossed me and literally stabbed me in the back.

My mouth tasted bitter at her very memory.

But then there was Sam. Sweet, innocent, innocuous Sam, devoid of aggression or anger or really any emotion aside from exasperation and sensitivity. Okay, not always devoid of aggression, but it was always in desperation more than selfishness or anger. She was an abused child robbed of a decent home-life and thrown onto the streets by unfavorable circumstances. The shining light in a parade of black holes, intent on glowing even as the darkness tried to swallow her.

Our chance meeting in Tucson, Arizona returned to me, rippling through the curtain of rain:

_It was a storm not unlike the one battering my present self, but back then it had been a city and it had been impossible. Torrents of rain hit you full in the face, propelled by the wind, which gusted at lethal velocities. I had seen worse - like the hurricanes my father was Lord over - but it was still gods-awful. I hunkered into my tattered jacket for warmth, seeking out one final, un-populated place of refuge before the dagger white-knuckled in my hand fulfilled its last purpose._

_I sagged against the lamppost, knees buckling then and there. One of the heavily-jacketed couples shot me a scathing look as they sprinted for the refuge of a _Circle K_._

_There was nothing left in me. Tucsonians would find my water-abused body, bloated and bloody, in the clear-skied morning. For now, I would content myself with knowing it was the last of this loathsome city I would ever have to see. _

_It would also be the last thing I would ever see, period. But I wasn't in any mood for technicalities._

_The rain picked up and hail came down, thrashing me diagonally. I whimpered. It didn't hurt, per say, but I was so tired that it might as well have. My grip slipped on the lamp and I fell toward the ground, rolling onto my shoulder so I didn't impact my face. The dagger obeyed the will of my enervated arm as it pressed against my rib cage._

_I focused on the cloudy night sky, the smallest ray of moonlight peeking through. And with that image permanently burned onto my retinas, I prepared to bury my souvenir into my heart and let the rain escort me into an unceasing slumber._

_Suddenly, something kicked me in the face. A shocked cry followed by a hissing curse distracted me. One of the trippee's feet knocked Anne's knife from my grasp. I called out, reaching for it, when I caught the petrified expression of a very wet and very panicked little girl._

_Her dark hair was plastered around a vaguely Hispanic face, strands of it over her scintillating emerald eyes. Rumpled clothes stuck to her emaciated frame, malnourished ribs jutting out and stretching the skin painfully. Her cheeks her hollow, bags of sleeplessness apparent underneath the piercing green of her gaze. _

_My hand faltered partway to my souvenir. "Hello?" I began tentatively._

_She scrambled onto her feet, scooping up the contents of her torn bag. I noticed a wooden ruler, soggy from the rain, and a half-eaten chocolate bar covered in various unidentifiable food and waste. Other meaningless trinkets filled her palms, overflowing past her fingers. A water bottle had burst upon impact, and she stared at it for a half-second in devastation before kicking it away._

_Before she could sprint out of sight, I hooked her arm. Thunder rumbled in the distance and the white light of its creator illuminated her frightened features. "Hey," I coaxed. "I won't hurt you."_

_She snorted and jerked her arm away, only to spill her belongings again. She bent down desperately to gather them up, and I reached to help her. "I have a few bucks," I told her. "if you want to buy something better at the store."_

_Another distrusting nasal sound was all I received in response. She snatched the ruler from my hand fast enough to have cut my palm if I hadn't been invincible. "It was not nice meeting you," she said rudely, turning to leave. But she froze, only partially rotated, and fixated on a point over my shoulder. Terror flashed across her eyes and she stumbled backward shaking her head. "It isn't possible," she breathed. "The truck killed them!"_

_I whirled around to see a Cyclops and, alarmingly enough, a Lastrygonian. They lumbered toward us, each towers of overshadowed brutishness. Neither clutched any sort of weapon, but those calloused fists could do some damage. I tried to see if the Lastrygonian had brought his fireballs to play, but I couldn't tell._

_"Stay behind me," I ordered, reaching into my pocket and pulling out Riptide. "Whatever you do, don't run away."_

_"Are you crazy?" she cried._

_"N - yes," I conceded. "But they're too big. The farther out you get the more in danger you are. If I don't make it" - I gave an inward eye roll for that one - "then get in close and bury that knife to the hilt." I nodded at Anne's dagger, still on the ground. I couldn't believe I was offering it to her, but she needed it right now._

_She caught my arm, another crash of trinkets splashing to the ground. "Why are you doing this?"_

_I smiled at her and took a step forward._

_Mere seconds ago, I would have knelt before them and let them beat me to death. I would have welcomed their rough knuckles on my face, showed them exactly where to strike to put me out of my misery. But there was a little girl behind me, frozen in her place as she watched me take on the monsters she hadn't been able to vanquish with a truck. This was not a time to be selfish._

_The Cyclops attacked first, and a sliver of recognition sparked in me at the sight of him. An attack at school the first year after camp during lunch. It had taken it several years to reform, apparently, and I got the impression it was still sour from last time._

_A swing went wide and I ducked underneath it, punching it hard in the gut before unsheathing Riptide and eviscerating him. The girl cried out when he burst apart. Next was the Lastrygonian, faster and bigger than its cousin. No flaming projectiles smoked toward my head. Instead, it attacked me straight-on. I rolled behind it, making sure to announce myself so it didn't lose interest and attacked the still-paralyzed minor. It grunted in dissatisfaction, starting to turn, but Riptide sunk into its back._

_Just like that, the fight was over._

_The girl's jaw was slack when I went back to her. She blinked at the golden dust, now washing away in the pool of rainwater. Almost like a augury, the storm ceased and the clouds cleared. Sunrise broke through the darkness, and within minutes people were emerging from their places of hiding. _

_The girl moved her mouth up and down, as though trying to speak. But then she fell into a defensive stance, sloppy as it was, and brandished the knife underhand with the point held out toward me. "Okay," she said. "Bring it. Attack me. I can take you."_

_"I don't want - " She lashed out and sliced my shirt. Already wet and decrepit, it fell to the ground, exposing half my stomach. She didn't bat an eye. I groaned and bent down to pick it up, rolling my eyes and tossing it in the beige pack always on my shoulder. It was easy enough to fight with it on, and last second First Aid supplies could be required. You know, for other people._

_"How did you do that?" she demanded. "That was - that was - that was inhuman!"_

_Despite myself, I laughed and shook my head. The lamppost a few feet away gave plenty of light to see her affronted expression, but I held up my hands in surrender. "Sorry, it's just . . . a little ironic, I guess."_

_She frowned, expression turning dubiously curious. "What's ironic? You just completely . . ." She looked behind me at the nonexistent demons and blinked. "Where did they even go? It's like, they were there but then you killed them and there wasn't even a body. They just . . . _poof_!" Bewilderment colored her voice and her face as she studied me, and then turned her attention to my vanished victims. "Where did they go?" she repeated, as though I hadn't heard the first time._

_"Tartarus," I confessed. A small twang of pain seized my heart as the name for the Greek Hell left my lips and I winced. "Have you ever heard the Greek myths?"_

_The girl looked even more apprehensive as she relaxed, almost as though checking off a list of muscles one at a time. With another backward step and a fully-frontal position, she gave me another onceover. Emerald eyes were alight with wariness, but I could sense some tentative trust leaking through her armor. "Yeah," she admitted. "I've heard a few. Like the - " She pulled up short even without my prompting. "The Labyrinth's monster, or that snake-haired lady with the mirror-shield thing-a-ma-jig. By that one hero with the mom."_

_I seriously had to fight the smile spreading across my face but I couldn't help it. A concise snort fled my nostrils but I sucked in the remainder of my laughter. "Yeah," I confirmed. "One of the many heroes with moms."_

_"Mortal mom," Sam clarified. "And I know Her - the guy with the movie."_

_"Again," I told her. "You are the Queen of Vague."_

_"And you're the King of Annoying."_

_"I'm older than you," I told her. "By law you have to be more annoying than me."_

_She bristled defiantly and puffed out her chest at the challenge. "You want to find out how much more annoying I can be?"_

_I smirked and held out my hand. "Actually." She stared at the offering like I had a poisonous spike attached. After insuring a complete lack of underhanded spikery, she shook it. "I'm . . ." I hesitated a half-second, but she was so young. What harm could she be? And I really, truly wanted her to trust me. "I'm Percy."_

_"Like the guy from Harry Potter?" she asked, almost excitedly. I frowned. "I only know him because of the movies," she admitted. "Reading is really hard. I'm dyslexic." She pulled her hand away, but I continued looking at her expectantly. I realized we were standing awkwardly in the street, attracting eyes. It must have looked weird, an older guy like me talking to a little kid like her. But whatever. _

_Finally, she realized what I wanted. "Oh! I'm Sam." Then came the silence, which Sam chose to ignore by bouncing off her heels like a five year old. "So . . . The Greek myths and stuff are true, I'm guessing. And I'm some sort of . . . what do they call it?"_

_"A demigod," I supplied. "Or a half-blood, but that's a more recent term."_

_She shrugged. "Yeah, one of those. My mom went to the hospital alone. Never told them the dad."_

_"Where is she?"_

_"Complications in childbirth," Sam dismissed, face darkening. "Foster system, foster home. They didn't like me a lot." She tugged on her wet hair and shifted anxiously. "A lot of people don't."_

_"Nah," I waved. "I think you're pretty cool." Those icy glares were getting worse, so I said, "How about I take you a place safer where you can eat and I can tell you stuff without playing Charades."_

_Sam shrugged and stepped aside for me to lead the way. Without hardly any movement, I disarmed her of my knife and sheathed it behind my back. She cried out in indignance. "I stole that fair and square!" she protested. "And I always preferred Pictionary."_

_"I can't draw," I told her. _

_"And I can't read."_

_"Me neither. Typical demigod thing."_

_"Oh." Awkward silence offset by walking. Then: "So are we like . . . Does this mean I get a pegasus like the one off of _Hercules?"

The memory cut off abruptly to the sounds of crunching footsteps. The storm in the present had died down to a reasonable level and now it was only slightly stinging against my arms. I started to sit up, holding my head, and looked around. Whatever thrall the Torturer held me under was gone, banished by the memory of my giddy young charge. But the danger was far from passed. I still had a bushel of apples to collect, and apparently Hera wanted a dragon claw.

My head throbbed vengefully. I could see through the curtain of rain at last, and what I saw was not at all reassuring. That didn't stop my stomach from churning with a masochistic sense of desire when I saw the stalking Hesperides, however.

The one in the lead crouched beside me, reaching toward my chin. Red hair tumbled down her shoulders with gorgeous multicolored eyes, infinite and alluring. A sleek white dress to match her sisters' clung to her curves, drawing attention to her breasts with its outrageous V-neck and contouring design. My throat went dry and I tried to pull away, logical mind screaming: _Warning! Warning! Do not divert blood-flow to lower regions! _No such luck.

"Hello, little hero," the redhead cooed. Her darker haired sisters giggled merrily, surrounding me on all sides. "How does thee feel?"

I gulped. "Uh . . . I have a headache."

The Hesperide nodded, bringing my lips to her own. My mind's effort to introduce the sense I had been born with redoubled, with its attempts were in vain. "Well," she purred, breath tickling my mouth. I felt her intoxicating proximity already pulling me under. I was vaguely aware of Riptide mere inches from me if I only reached for it, but I didn't want to. I wanted to sit here and let the pretty lady kiss me. "We shall have to remedy thy headache." She brushed hair out of my eyes and the headache was gone.

Then she smiled and kissed me, and I was lost.


	5. Chapter 5

**So, before you guys read, I have this really _hilarious _joke to tell you. So I was writing this chapter the day I posted Chapter Four and I had it mostly finished by the next day, but - and get this - I logged on when I was delirious off of too much Algebra homework and too little food and sleep. I was going to finish it and post it at, like, midnight, but - and here's the punch line - I accidentally backspaced five pages of text!**

**Aren't you just roaring with laughter?**

Chapter Five: There Is No Comfort In Cliches

**The monsters came **from everywhere and nowhere, materializing from the superheated stone of Tartarus as it domed over my head. I felt breathless, constricted, like I was being squeezed through a tube of toothpaste. Staggering through the monsters, unarmed, defenseless, fatigued and half-dead. My arms flailed about me, slapping a Cyclops in the chest, a dog-faced telekhine in the face. The _dracanae _slithered out from the shadows, wielding broadswords and slicing me to ribbons. I wailed in pain, slumping to the ground.

Emily hauled me to safety, the wound festering and driving me mad. I thrashed around, weak and frantic like a fish, but the paralysis was spreading through my limbs faster than I remembered ever happening before. She brushed hair from my cheek, smiling as I gasped for air. "Water," I choked. She just knelt there and grinned as I died.

Anne - the very same Emily I had seen spectating my death - pushed herself off the ground onto her knees. It was a maroon-patterned carpet, and she knelt on it with a perfectly lighthearted expression. Meanwhile, the Justice of the Peace fled the room in terror, stark white from witnessing what could only be considered an epic battle between the fiancees. Riptide pressed against Anne's throat as sirens blared outside the second story window, proclaiming armed forces in what would probably be less than a few minutes. I had to dispatch with her quickly; I had no time for jail and no one to bail me out. "I trusted you," I told her, shaking my head as tears gathered in my eyes. "I loved you."

Anne just smirked and caught the flat of my blade between her thumb and forefinger, leading it away from her neck with an expression that could only be described as cheerfully sadistic. "Well, it's been fun, but I gotta run."

She pushed herself to her feet and sprinted away, leaving me feeling hollow and fragile. And betrayed. So very, very betrayed.

Above all the other betrayals, all the other heartbreaks, everything that had whipped me and battered me, I could see the cold, emotionless expression of Queen Hera of Olympus as she jerked her thumb to the door and told me to leave. Threatened to turn Camp Half-Blood to ash if I stayed. "If you do not forsake this life, Perseus Jackson," she intoned. "If you do not relinquish the title of Hero of Olympus and leave Camp Half-Blood, if you insist on returning, there will not be a Camp Half-Blood to return to. This I can promise you."

I raced against time, desperate to escape the barking wolves crashing through the trees behind me as the Hunters closed in, getting closer and closer and closer . . .

The harmonious _twang _of a dozen bows being fired as one filled my ears, and the arrows of Artemis arced toward my head, deadly precision embodied in their graceful, quivering flight.

And then they found their marks in the chest plates of five Lycanthropes.

The Torturer was right behind me. Salvation was in sight, the end of the tunnel a beacon of light. I could be imagining it, I warned myself. It might be a trick. But no good illusions had come to me in all the time I'd been a prisoner of The Torturer's, and I doubted it would start now. But just as my fingers dug into the blistering rock, something grabbed my shoulder.

"NO!" I screamed, panting and sweating more than Niagara Falls. There was a hand on my shoulder, too tight to be friendly. I snarled, shrugging it off and trying to conquer the darkness of my vision. It occurred to me, numbly, that I was laying on something soft, but it didn't feel like a cushion. More like a . . . hammock. Yeah, that's what they were called. A hammock. And for all my thrashing, it had spilled over, meaning someone - probably the person with their hand _still _on my shoulder - was holding it steady.

The black receded from my vision, like ink spilt in reverse. I looked to my left first, because that was the shoulder with the hand on it, but then I felt a slender forearm on my chest. I finally threw off my restrainer's grip and promptly spun over, falling hard on my face.

"Percy!" a panicked girl squealed, and I imagined a stereotypical brunette - I couldn't see girly blondes or redheads after Annabeth and Rachel - with her hand clamped over her mouth.

Groaning, I leveraged myself upright with my arms. "Don't - " I began, wincing as the scar on my cheek tingled. The Torturer must have noticed my fear while I was asleep. " - don't touch me when I'm asleep. That is a very, very bad idea."

I flashed back to the first time I slept around Sam. My nightmares had been outlandish that night, plagued by scenes of her being brutally murdered in front of me. _"__You will confess to me if I have to hunt every mortal you care about and drive them mad in front of you." _I shuddered.

I felt something akin to soft fabric brush against my knuckles while I comported myself, taking deep, calming breaths and looking up into the warm oval brown eyes of a familiar brunette, although she was anything but stereotypical. A long caramel braid fell down her right shoulder, a slender hand extended hesitantly toward what I released to be a stray strand of hair in my eyes. Warm olive skin sparkled in the moonlight streaming from behind her like a halo, and her natural pink lips curled into a smile.

My breath hitched and I couldn't believe my eyes. Apparently, Atlas's cursed daughter couldn't either.

Calypso let out a breathless laugh and tucked my hair behind my ear, cupping my face. "Percy," she sighed. "I have dreamed of this day for too long. How are you?"

My body shook forcefully as I weaved my fingers through the holes in the hammock and pulled myself to my unsteady feet. Calypso rose with me, her powder blue dress catching a light breeze as she did so. She helped me perch on a spire, still fussing over my face being in my eyes. I waved her away, still gaping.

Calypso frowned. "Percy, can you talk?"

It was only then I realized I had been a virtual mute the whole time she was talking to me. I chuckled softly, trying to reassure the beautiful nymph, but holding her caring eyes and acting perturbed was a lot harder to do than one might think. "Yeah," I assured her. My voice was gravelly, like it hadn't been used a lot, and my throat itched thirstily. "Uh . . . Can I get some water?"

Calypso smiled and didn't even question the request. I was tired and summoning water of my own volition was difficult to do. So I just sat and watched as the nymph I had, for all intents of purposes, left for Annabeth raced off to nurture me like some sort of mother hen. She returned from the shadows with a tray carrying a pitcher and an empty glass.

Before she could pour the contents of the pitcher into the cup, I snatched it, using my mind to keep all the precious drops from sloshing over the edge and gulped it down, throwing back over half of it with one continuous swallow. Refreshing coolness coated my throat and I sighed in content, taking a moment before draining what remained of the water.

Only after I had polished off the final droplets did I realize I wasn't the only person in the room. I looked at Calypso sheepishly, lowering the pitcher and turning a brilliant color of red. "Uh . . . sorry. Did you - ?"

Calypso shook her head and took the pitcher from me. "Do you need more?" she asked kindly. There wasn't any venom or hatred to her voice, despite the fact I abandoned her on that island, leaving her with no one but a bunch of invisible servants for company.

I rubbed the goosebumps from my arms, feeling uncomfortable under her neutral gaze. "N-no," I stuttered, looking around skittishly. Something like a howl filled my ears and I jumped. "What was that?"

Calypso looked a little bitter. "There is a pack of werewolves not far from here. They prowl the entire Californian region, but they congregate more in this area. They are led by Lycaon."

"Lycaon?" I sputtered, grateful that I didn't have water in my mouth. "As in, _the _werewolf?"

Calypso nodded grimly. "Yes, the king of Arcadia. He fed Zeus the cooked meat of one of his own sons and tried to assassinate him while he slept. Needless to say, his punishment was to feast on human meat for the rest of eternity." Her face turned dark and unaccommodating, the first time I had seen Calypso angry in . . . ever. "He was a monster even before his curse."

"Do you know him?" I asked cautiously. I couldn't imagine how: I was pretty time Lycaon came after Calypso's banishment to Ogygia. "And didn't he, like, die centuries ago?"

Calypso faltered. "You haven't heard?" she cried, aghast.

I scowled, leaning away from her in alarm. She composed herself hastily, looking away. Despite myself, I reached out and cupped her chin with my left hand. She smiled meekly. "What haven't I heard?" I asked her. "I've been out of the loop for a few years. Hera banished me when I was sixteen."

Calypso gasped. "She would never . . ." She trailed off, staring at the floor. "No, I can imagine she would. That goddess has a twisted concept of right and wrong." Calypso placed her hand over mine, and electricity arced through me, just like it had when I was fourteen. "Oh Percy, if only I could take away all your suffering. You of all people should never have had to bear . . ."

"Calypso, stop. You're sounding like some cheesy romance movie right now. It's freaking me out." I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. "Look, I just want to know where I am, why I'm there, how you're here, and just generally what's going on."

Calypso opened her mouth to answer, but just then the sound of rock grating against rock filled my ears. I tensed, remembering the cells in Tartarus, and dove my hand into my pocket, clutching Riptide. Calypso turned sharply, shoving me onto the hammock hastily and hissing, "Pretend you are asleep." I had never heard that urgency in her voice before, so I laid back and closed my eyes partway, even faking a snore for added realism.

Because everyone knew I made all sorts of un-handsome sounds when I was unconscious. And sadly, that wasn't sarcasm.

I watched through half-lidded eyes as a pair of shapely seductress legs sauntered off from where my feet where pointing. Calypso curtsied to her, looking jittery and uneasy.

I risked a fully open-eyed glimpse of a familiar red-haired nymph flanked by her brunette sisters, all wearing silver Greek dresses. The leader sized Calypso up with a disapproving sneer. "Thee still insists on nursing the hero, doesn't thee?"

Calypso nodded, taking a frightful step back from her. "Yes, Aigle. I will not sentence him to your wiles without being at his best."

Aigle snorted. I half-expected to snap her fingers like the IT girls in high school - and yes, I still remembered those days, even if they did feel like centuries ago. But she didn't, and so I closed my eyes again and contented myself with listening to Calypso and Aigle's argument.

"Will you please leave? He has not woken yet. I will tell you when he does." The lie sounded so easy it was difficult to believe someone as innocent as Calypso could have delivered it.

"I will not go until I am sure thee is not plotting thine escape with him."

There was a heartbeat of an almost panicked pause on Calypso's behalf because she blurted, "Why would I wish to tarnish your hospitality, sister? You have given me asylum from a cataclysm I never would have wished to see." She hesitated, and I didn't need to have my eyes open to know she was looking at me. "With or without him."

There was such a heartbroken edge to her voice I wanted nothing more than to envelop her in a comforting hug and apologize for leaving her, that I never wanted to do it, that I always wondered what would have happened if I accepted her companionship. Then I remembered Annabeth and how, even that moment on the dance floor had seemed . . . magical. If Calypso hadn't been my what-if, Annabeth would have.

Then again, now both of them were, so . . .

I resisted the urge to shake myself out of my stupor and eavesdropped some more on the conversation.

One of Aigle's sisters piped in at that point, a scathing quality to her voice as she said, "Thine infatuation with Perseus Jackson is unwise, Calypso. He will perish like all the other heroes."

I tensed, unable to stop the reflexive reaction. What was she talking about? Other heroes? The only "hero" I knew about was Sam, and being a twelve year old girl barely with her foot in the door as far as the godly world was concerned, she couldn't be in danger of "perishing". Death was just part of the streets, but the way she said "heroes" . . . It felt like she meant more than just someone else and me. More than even three people. Like a dozen or more. Or maybe everyone . . .

"Shush, Erytheis, thee betrays too much with thy tongue," interjected the final sister. I racked my brain for a name and finally came to Hespere. I bit back a snort - go figure. "Our slumbering hero might awake to sounds of conspiracy if he stirs."

The sisters giggled knowingly and I heard the soft plopping of feet, but they grew fainter, not louder. I didn't dare open my eyes out of fear it was a trick and all but squeezed them shut; I couldn't afford to fall for a trick like last time. But finally, Calypso's lilting voice called to me. "They have gone," she said, tugging on my arms. I complied eagerly, kicking my feet over the side and balancing on one leg for a moment. Calypso supported me. "You must go. Now, because they come back."

She started pushing me toward the cave entrance, where moonlight caught her face in the right way to let it sparkle. I resisted, but even as I did she shoved harder, so much that I staggered. There was more muscle in those lanky arms than I anticipated. "I can't," I told her. I pointed at the scar on my face, tucking hair behind my ear to do it. "Something hates me a lot, and every month, this thing tries to kill me. It festers and I get paralyzed and then I start convulsing . . . . It's not pretty. If I don't get a bushel of the Apples of Immortality, Hecate can't make the antidote and I'll die in about five days, give or take."

Calypso looked disbelieving. "I have never heard of such an ailment," she began skeptically.

"I'm not lying to you," I said desperately. "Listen, I didn't know about it until I had it. Nobody did. It has something to do with - " I stopped, shutting my eyes to keep from seeing the revolted look on Calypso's face. She hadn't reacted to the mark on my face yet, which was a first - most people acknowledged it at one time or another, even if they were polite enough to wait - but the next bomb was sure to catch her flat-footed. "It has to do with Tartarus."

Calypso pulled away like she'd been creamed with a ten-ton tractor. "Tartarus?" she echoed. "But you couldn't have - " I averted my eyes. "You could. Percy, I am so sorry." She reached to hug me but I stepped out of her embrace, feeling vulnerable since my nightmares.

"Don't," I warned. "Just . . . I need those stupid apples. I hate it, but I do. So is there _any _way you could help me? I'll get you off this mountain, I swear."

Calypso looked uncertain. She stared off into space, as though weighing her options. "You cannot grant me freedom a second time, Percy," she confessed. "It will end in both of our deaths."

"You said I would never see you again," I pressed, taking her shoulders and making her look at me. "I proved you wrong about that, didn't I? Give me a chance. I won't leave you trapped here right after getting off Ogygia."

Calypso's eyes teared up and she caressed my cheek gently. "You are so kind," she told me. "Kinder than any other hero who graced my shores. But . . . You cannot redeem me from myself. My father watches every step I take and he will not let me escape."

"He's trapped under the sky," I argued desperately. "It's not like he can stop you."

Tears rolled down Calypso's cheeks and she sniffled wetly. "Atlas is a _titan, _Percy. His power is greater than any mortal can comprehend. But" - a thoughtful look spread across her face - "The Fates will not permit me to leave this mountain _yet, _just as they would not permit my escape from Ogygia. But if you can defy the odds once more, perhaps we may see each other again."

I didn't like the "if" and "perhaps" in her hopeful sentiment, but it seemed like Calypso was keeping a lot from me. I was used to it, but that didn't mean I appreciated secrets. But the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, and I heard footsteps again.

Calypso cursed in Ancient Greek - didn't think you'd ever read that one, did ya? - and tackled me into the shadows, a hand muffling my cry of alarm. We hunkered in the shadows, clinging to the darkness in hopes it would obscure us from the almost hawk-like scan the Hesperides did of the cavern.

"Where have they gone?" the one I assumed was Hespere asked, because she had been the sister farthest from me and her voice was more distorted.

Aigle scowled and did a three-sixty turn. "I have no notion," she grumbled. "but we will find them. If we let Gaea's plan fail, she will be livid."

And with that, the sisters, ran from the cave and disappeared the way they came.

"Gaea?" I hissed. "They're kidding, right? I mean, Gaea's all drugged on Sleepy Time Tea at the moment, right?"

Calypso didn't answer, crawling from our hiding spot. "We must hurry," she prompted. "Aigle will confer with our father before acting again, but the Tree will not be unguarded long. If you are to finish your quest, you must act quickly."

I resisted for a half-second, frowning. "I thought you didn't want to help me?"

Calypso smiled and patted my cheek. "Percy, I am nearly as subservient as my father like to believe. Now come."

* * *

The Tree of Hesperides glowed glided in the distance, about half the size of a Redwood with a very knotted up dragon coiled around its base, about fifty of its available heads focused on Calypso and me before we even made it up the final cliff to reach Hera's wedding gift.

"Do not draw your weapon," Calypso warned, coming to a crouch after finishing climbing the cliff. I hauled myself onto the ledge, sweating and panting with my hair plastered to my face from exertion. Calypso only rubbed my arm reassuringly, still the visage of beauty without a drop of perspiration to detract. "Let me reassure him."

My eyes widened and I grabbed Calypso's hand in a death-grip, remembering Zoe Nightshade's pale, poisoned, broken form on the rocks not fifty or so feet above us. "No," I snapped. "That last time someone did that for me, they died."

Calypso's eyes turned sorrowful and she leaned in to kiss my forehead. I closed my eyes, surprised at how intimate that motherly peck felt. I didn't let her go. "Percy, it is the only way. Please, release me."

I shook my head firmly. "No."

Calypso hardened her expression and yanked her hand from mine. "Yes."

I tried to stop her again, but it was nothing more than an ungraceful and exhausted jerk. Calypso slipped away from me, the visage of youth and beauty and kindness and everything that made the world worthwhile to live in. And she was walking to her infallible demise.

Maybe she was still immortal, even after escaping from Ogygia? She was the offspring of two Titans; that had to give her something of longevity? Gods could be wounded, but they didn't die and always healed. Calypso had to be the same, right? Right?

I scrambled to my feet, watching as my stomach knotted up in itself and Calypso sauntered up to the hundred-headed protector. His serpentine necks wound around the Tree, some of them snarling, others hissing, some looking wary while others were relaxed. I clenched my fists, gnawing on my lower lip as I remembered the only two people I had met who faced Ladon in battle; Luke Castellan, who was clawed and turned bitter toward the gods, and Zoe Nightshade who suffered a deadly gash to the side from a bite.

Zoe was Calypso's sister, too. I tried not to make the associative assumption, but it was harder like breathing in lava.

Calypso crouched before one of the heads, almost as though she was singling it out, and reached out to pat his snout affectionately. Some of the heads looked contented, but still others were unfriendly and distrusting. Calypso said something I couldn't hear, and Ladon calmed down slightly.

But then his scales stood on end like a cat's hackles and all one hundred heads fixated on me, Ladon's tail thumping against the ground angrily. I froze, hand flitting to my pocket. Calypso shook her head once and I abandoned it, raising my arms in surrender.

Taking careful, thoughtful steps toward the green dragon, I advanced, holding Calypso's gaze while watching Ladon out of the corner of my eye. My heart pounded against my rib cage, but I forced my breath into a steady rhythm. In, out, in out . . . One step, two. Pause. Another step, pause.

Ladon pulled in, but not out of fear. It reminded me of a snake coiling up to strike out. Then I saw the muscles in his neck tense.

I lunged to the side before the jaws could clamp over my torso, but Calypso wasn't so lucky. All I heard was her shrill scream as one of Ladon's long necks slammed into her and she flew backward, momentum rolling her down the rocks like she was a slinky.

"Calypso!" I cried, surging to my feet and leaping over Ladon's heads before they could get me, ducking and dodging and weaving among them with my eyes fixated on the bloody fingers clinging to the ledge. Ladon pursued me, but I ignored him and grabbed onto Calypso's arm as tightly as I could. Both of her hands hung onto me and I steadied myself with my left hand.

Her eyes were wild with fear. "Ladon . . ." she breathed. I knew the murderous dragon was breathing my neck, prepared to strike at the least opportune moment, but no amount of looming and intimidation was going to make me drop the _only _other woman who I loved without ample gallons of manipulation.

"I'm not letting you go," I grunted, teeth grinding together from the effort. "Calypso, ju-just hang on."

She shook her head. "Percy, _fight _for your life. I know the gods are interfering with fate, but you have to fight it. The Fates don't control everything. You _can _make your own decisions despite them."

I shook my head. "No, Calypso . . . Don't let go. I've got you."

"Goodbye, my hero."

And then she slipped from my grasp to the rocks and sea below.

I flashed to Luke, crumpled over the rocks, and roared in grief. "NO!" Riptide came to the ready in my hand as a wave of water crashed into Ladon, throwing him free as my glided weapon arced through the tsunami. Head after head washed away in the current as I leaped into it, hacking with everything I had. Calypso was dead. The immortal nymph whose compassion was the _sole _reason I was still alive.

I lost Annabeth the day Hera ordered me to leave Camp Half-Blood. _Emily Richardson _was nothing but a trick meant to lure me into her deathly clutches. And now Calypso was gone, plummeted to her death on the dark rocks of Mount Tamalpais.

Thank you, Aphrodite, for making my love life _so _interesting.

I imagined the faces of Hera and Zeus and Poseidon and Ares and Aphrodite as I dispatched with the monster. My energy was failing rapidly, but if I died here and now it would be avenging a good woman. So long as _fifty _less heads saw sunrise peaking over the mountain, I could die happy.

The wave subsided, leaving me depleted and empty at the mercy of Ladon. Without my water, I was colder than ice. I shivered, dropping Riptide. It clattered on the ground.

I looked into one of the dozens of heads still on the Protector of the Apples of Immortality. Yellow slits blazed a hole through my soul, and despite everything, the last thing I planned to think about was the way Annabeth's golden hair looked down in the wind.

"Cease!" a feminine voice barked.

I slumped to the ground and clenched my fist. "You don't even have enough decency to put me out of my misery?" I muttered weakly. "You're more heartless than Hera."

Suddenly, a bag rolled in front of me. Ladon stared at it in surprise, sniffing uncertainly. He even nudged me away to get a better look. After a few seconds of disbelief, he turned on his mistress in alarm. Aigle and her sisters jogged down the rocks, all of them with faces frozen in anger.

"Take your prize, demigod," Aigle snarled, waving her hand dismissively. "Thy foolishness killed our sister, and that is a deed unforgivable. But I shall not waste my energy upon your filth." When I didn't move, she screamed in frustration, knelt in front of me, and pulled out a perfect golden apple. There were three more inside. "One more than Heracles robbed from us, whelp. Congratulations. Now go."

I couldn't believe my ears or eyes. With trepidation, I took her offering, examining it to see if it was some underhanded trick. But I found no blemishes or flaws to it. Hoping it wasn't an internal poison injected magically, I tucked it back in the bag and nodded.

Maybe I should have thanked the Hesperides for being gracious and merciful, but as I opened my mouth to frame the words, they stuck in my throat. My mind reeled with Luke's scar, Zoe's paling face, and Calypso's dress as it billowed around her and she fell to her death. And every last one of them had suffered because of the three Titanesses before me, standing proud and defiant.

There was no way I could thank them for murdering my friends.

"I don't know what's going on with Gaea," I began carefully, holding Aigle's eyes and gritting my teeth. Each of her sisters blanched slightly when I looked at them, and I willed one more wave to crest over the mountain, proportionately weaker to the one I attacked Ladon with. Rage burned in the pit of my stomach, mingled with grief and disgust, and it made for a fuel the gods could never have thought up. I trembled with contained fury and my voice carried like the flat of a dagger; level, even, and sharp. "but whatever you're doing, whatever you think will kill me . . . It won't. And after it's over, whatever it is, I will come back here. I will find a way to kill you - all of you - just like Luke and Zoe and Calypso. I will come back, for them. I will come after you."

Aigle smiled, her lip quirking upward disbelievingly. "Brave words for a cowardly hero," she jeered. "How are you to make promises about your survival if you don't even know your enemy?"

My eyes narrowed. "Ever heard the saying 'a man with nothing to lose'?"

The Hesperides frowned, confused.

My smile might have looked demented in the moonlight, a faint golden hue leaking from inside the bag with the apples in it and my scar wrinkling up distastefully. That smile alone made the Hesperides look uncertain.

I took one last step to the cliff, balancing precariously on the ledge, and said, "That's why."

The wave enveloped me and I clutched the bag like it was my lifeline. The world spun in lazy circles, and the last thing I heard from Aigle was, "Perhaps we should not have given him the Apples?"

**I know you guys aren't thrilled about this story, but if I know my fans, you were a little miffed by the cliffhanger (Seriously, it doesn't matter how many times I do it, you guys _always _act like it's a surprise. That's like reading Riordan's books and going "Oh my gods, Rick! I never saw that incredibly heart-wrenching scene where you metaphorically ripped my heart from my chest and stomped on it with all your genius feels coming! That was a low blow!" Come _on, _people, it is the oldest trick in the book.**

**But, so long as it works (*shrugs*).**

**I got a few more reviews last chapter, which I was glad about, but it is still a reluctant trickle. I know I had one fan tell that, although he/she didn't mind the rewrite, they preferred the original, but with the thin reception I'm getting, I really think you guys are beginning to resent me my decision. That isn't going to change it - I did this more for me than you, to be perfectly honest - but I'm actually starting to feel a little bad about it. And I can understand if you guys are just scoffing at this Author's Note and going on with the story mostly out of some imaginary obligation to me to see it through, but I would really appreciate _something _of an acknowledgement when you finish. I really love (read: most) of the people who favorite my stories, and you are wonderful conversationalists. I have found a surprising friendship in _imawordbender, _and she's not the only one. Has my day in the sun run its course? Because I will simply slink away from and discontinue my stories if it is no longer worth it to any of us to keep writing and reading. Maybe someone will take it up for adoption.**

**Please leave _anything _in that box at the bottom of the page, even if it's a fleet of scathing remarks. This silent treatment is beginning to drive me insane, and I have no idea what to think. Tell me what's going through your brains right now, _please. _I hope me pleading with you will encourage _something _of a response. If not . . .  
**

**Well, it was nice will it lasted.**


	6. Chapter 6

**You guys made my month with that last bout of reviews. I have never been so flattered and teary-eyed in my life; and that isn't even an exaggeration. Although I milked it a little on that Author's Note, my doubts were very real and you all very much squashed them. I beamed and sobbed interchangeably while reading the reviews you left. I even met a few _new _people through those. Everyone (except one who I'm going to address impersonally below here because the disabled their PM and I refuse to let any of those reviews go unnoticed) who reviewed was sent a grateful PM, some longer than others because I hit a tangent. All were personalized. I didn't copy and paste from one to other, I promise. **

**Now, for the guy who I couldn't PM (in other words, if you reviewed Chapter Five around the time it was first uploaded and didn't receive a response, read what's below. If you did, simply skip to the text out of a kindness to this individual):**

**Forsitis13: I have no intention of getting discouraged, but thank you tremendously. Thank you for understanding my reasons and especially thank you for leaving a review.**

**Thank you all so much. And now for Chapter Six. **

Chapter Six: My Not-So-People Love My People

**The sea foam **cushioned me as I free-fell, slowed by the white pillow of water. My vision was overtaken with it until, finally, my feet hit solid ground.

The tile of Olympus was damp from the fountain that dropped me off. When I recovered from a severe bout of vertigo that sent me to my knees and toppled the brazier next to me, I realized the ground was puddled with seawater. A scruffy-looking satyr pouted at me, his goatee (okay, that was just ironic) dripping as he excused himself from The Throne Room.

Hermes had left, but the others remained; Zeus, Poseidon, Hera, Athena, and Aphrodite were all seated, looking taken aback. Knees knocking, I struggled to my feet, only to collapse again. Something offered me a canteen of nectar, which I took silently and swallowed several mouthfuls. It was dangerous to do, but if I didn't get a boast right _then, _I was going to faint and not wake up.

I tried to give the canteen back with a scratchy "Thank you," but it must have been a wind spirit, because I saw nothing. Glumly, I tucked it in the pack in front of me, only to realize that was the bag with the apples in it. My beige shoulder bag was lost on Mount Orthys.

I felt a twinge of nostalgia and disappointment from that. I found that thing off a discount rack in Pennsylvania and held onto it all these years, even through Tartarus. It had waited for me on the rocky slopes of the Underworld when I crawled out. It was a connection to a younger me, someone with some hope left for the future. Without it, I felt empty and hollow, like the di had been cast and my fate was etched in stone.

_"The Fates don't control everything. You _can _make your own decisions despite them." _Calypso's last words brought tears to my eyes. I remembered her plummeting form, her dress billowing around her as she vanished from sight, enveloped by the rock and ocean below.

I shuddered, managing to remain on my feet as I faced Zeus squarely, the apples in my right hand and canteen in my left. I tossed the Fruit of Immorality at his feet, back stiff and defiant. "There," I told him. "Your stupid apples. Now where's Sam so I can go?"

Zeus held out his hand and the apples flew into his massive grasp. The small pack wasn't even the size of his giant fist. He opened it gingerly, and it looked weird seeing the King of Olympus handle something so shyly.

He looked into the bag, and his eyes widened.

"Yep," I confirmed. "Four. Given to me personally from the Hesperides themselves. Anyone care to tell me why they went from wanting to seduce and kill me to wanting to shower me with gifts and get me to leave? Alive?"

If crickets could survive on Olympus with all the godly power running around, I heard them.

I rolled my eyes and switched to canteen to my right hand. "Whatever. Now where's Sam?"

"Unfortunately," my father began with the word that preceded Olympian-generated doom. "your trials aren't entirely finished. The Apples must be purified of Titan power in the waters of my kingdom, but we are convening a meeting in a few hours so I cannot handle that as of right now. It would be best if you delivered them to the shores of Montauk and I will insure a Nereid picks them up." My father's hesitantly chipper tone grated on something under my skin.

"Oh, I see," I drawled bitterly. "So I almost die delivering _four _apples, watch one of my childhood crushes die, and cut off Hades knows how many of Ladon's heads, and that's _still _not enough for you?"

My father recoiled as I strode up to his throne, drawing Anne's knife and brandishing it before the five Olympians. I looked pointedly at Hera and leveled it toward her. "Maybe we should backtrack a little," I continued. "just to cover all the bases. You make me retrieve your stupid lightning bolt to clear my name of a crime I _couldn't _have committed. Then you send me on a suicide quest to save my best friend and retrieve the Golden Fleece - which _Kronos _just so conveniently had to want. Then I have to save Artemis and hold the sky - "

"You went on that quest of your own volition!" Aphrodite protested, and the glint in her eyes told me she was trying to insinuate more than me being hypocritical.

" - and survive the Labyrinth and blowing up in a volcano. Which, by the way, is when Hera gave me a vacation to Ogygia where I _met _Calypso." I glowered at the Queen of the Gods, but she looked unconcerned. "And then I have save your immortal butts from Kronos. I _saved _this stupid 'kingdom' when I was sixteen, and you repay me by getting pissy about me not taking godhood and banishing me from the _only _home I've ever had.

"And you still want me to run your fucking errand because you're too lazy to teleport over there and back?" The last was aimed at Poseidon, who became the new target for Anne's knife.

The assembled Olympians wore mixtures of expressions; Aphrodite and Poseidon looked ashamed, Athena managed some semblance of sympathy for my predicament. But I couldn't expect anything more than indifference from Hera, who sat complacently on her throne, legs crossed under her off-white dress with her hands clasped in her lap. Her cold brown eyes cut into me like daggers.

For several moments, there was nothing but silence. But then Athena spoke up. "It wasn't immortality."

"What?" I demanded, turning on her and lowering my weapon.

Athena's eyes were unreadable as she fixated on me, but out of the corner of my eye, Hera's were not. Before Athena could frame her first word, Zeus's wife interrupted, barking, "That is enough, Athene! The boy does not need to know our reasons."

"Considering the fact you said 'the boy'," I started. "and it doesn't matter what culture I'm from, I am considered 'a man' everywhere, I guess we can assume you don't mean me?"

Hera fumed, and I could tell it was difficult for her not to vaporize her favorite puppet. "Do not test me, Jackson. Your prolonged absence has set this entire Throne Room on edge."

I smirked. "Oh," I said in mock sweetness, placing my left hand on my heart. "You care about me that much?"

Hera was redder than a tomato and I chalked it up to a good day.

"Fine," I snapped. "Toss me the apples and I'll drop them off. Just so long as I don't have to _listen _to you guys whine." I caught the bag and slung it on my shoulder, turning briefly to Athena and nodding at her. "I look forward to finding out what really happened five years ago, Lady Athena."

Before I could turn on my heel, Hera's voice called out to me. "It was for the good of all of Olympus," she said. "I did it for the sake of family." Anyone else, that would have been a heartfelt confession full of remorse and tears. But for Hera, it was to placate me so I didn't strike out at the gods like I did the day before I met Anne.

I stopped at the double doors, taking a deep breath and closing my eyes. "I'm your nephew," I reminded her. "I'm family too."

And then I left.

* * *

Sam waited at the elevator down to the mortal world, sitting on a plant-covered bench with tears spilling down her face.

She was staring at something that looked like a milky white globe and holding the fabric of her shirt together like she was afraid it would fall apart. Her eyes were shut tight, and she looked like she was struggling not to show how distraught she was to the immortals that had gathered around. Minor gods and goddesses watched her in sympathy. Eos, goddess of the dawn who looked vibrant and joyful (probably because it _was _dawn) motioned me toward her excitedly.

I pushed through the gods and fell to my knees in front of Sam, lifting her chin so that she would look at me. She jerked away. "No," she sniffled. "He's dead. I'm all alone again."

I frowned, taking far too long to realize what her problem was. I glanced back at the globe and gritted my teeth together. "Sam, did you accept that from Hecate?"

Sam looked up in alarm, her tears ceasing. "Percy?" she breathed. Then she threw her arms around my neck and squeezed so tight I choked. But I didn't nudge her off; I reveled in holding the compact powerhouse and reassuring her, grateful that I had _something _worth fighting for. And even more grateful that it was _someone. _

"Hey," I consoled, patting her back as a choked sob escaped her. "Hecate's had it out for me ever since The Titan War, Sam. Listen to me." I pulled her away and made her meet my eyes. She wiped her nose sloppily and I smiled at how adorable she looked, even with big puffy eyes and a red nose. "She probably gave you that thing to get to you. I almost die a lot. You know that."

She nodded. "But you fell, and . . ."

"It was the best way I could get back to Olympus," I told her. I paused and smirked. "And it was a pretty cool exit, you've got to admit."

Sam nodded, but then she smacked me hard in the arm. "Don't do that to me again," she growled. "I was worried sick." She glanced around nervously. "You made me cry in front of strangers."

I looked around at the minor gods and goddesses gushing about how I treated Sam. I shot them a dirty look. "Oh, I'm sure they have _much _better things to do than gossip about some mere mortal problem."

They dispersed in shame.

"Thanks," she strangled.

"You're welcome." I stood and helped her onto her feet. "Now come on. The gods aren't quite through with me yet and I have to go to Montauk Beach and drop this off." I showed her the dark bag with the apples.

She frowned. "But what happened to your pack?"

I shrugged. "Dropped it. So I need to get a new one off a discount rack. Want to help me pick it out?"

A mischievous glint took to Sam's eyes and she clutched my hand in a vise-grip. "Oh yeah," she chirped. "I always love our shopping trips."

* * *

I retrieved fifty or so dollars from a stash I had hidden under a dumpster in an alley off 6th Avenue and hitched a ride on the subway. From there, Sam and I caught a bus down Interstate 97. We would have to trek on foot from there.

The entire process took another three days, so time was running short. I could feel the poison boiling in my veins, ready for another go at pulling me down under. The Torturer's voice whispered in my ear unendingly, threatening Sam, threatening me, threatening Camp Half-Blood. He reminded me of the risk I was taking, passing through Long Island to get to Montauk. The chance of being spotted.

I held Sam close to me on the bus, trying to keep his sneers out of my mind with idle chitchat. She started complaining about perverted old men checking out her butt, and I went defensive, trying to spot the leering jerk.

Sam shoved me gently on the thigh, chuckling. "You are _so _easy, Percy," she chided. "What are you going to do when I start feeling mutual attraction?"

"You won't be able to date, Sam," I pointed out. "Not on the run."

I expected Sam to do her usual pouting-lip thing, but instead she deflated and stared out the window. We had two seats in the very back of the bus, our bags in an overhead compartment. My arm was draped over Sam's shoulders protectively, and I was on the outside of the seats so she was closest to the window. Sam stared at the trees as they whizzed past the window, eyes thoughtful.

"But that's just the thing," she said under her breath. "Are we always going to be running?" She didn't look at me. She just watched the world blur past, so she didn't catch the dumbfounded expression on my face. "I mean, it's fine and everything, and we've had to do it, but . . . You've got all these safe houses with all this money for when you need it. But what if you got all of that money and settled down somewhere?"

I sighed and played with Sam's hair idly. She'd let it down earlier when it started raining, saying it was impossible to comb with her fingers if it got wet in the braid. "Where? Camp Half-Blood has eyes everywhere, Sam. If a satyr found us . . ."

"Then Canada." She looked at me, her eyes bright and hopeful. "There's English-speaking cities there, right? And I can learn French. They say it's pretty easy to do, 'cuz the Romance languages are based a lot on Latin, like English, and - "

"Our scent is too strong to stay somewhere unprotected," I warned. "Even Canada has monsters. You know the Lastrygonians and Frost Giants? They _love _the north."

Sam sagged in her chair, crossing her arms and looking defeated. She stared out the window again. "Is there _any _way we could stop running?"

I thought about it. The only way to stop moving from place to place would be to find a place like Camp Half-Blood where the monsters couldn't get through, no matter how many demigods there were. But in all my time running, Long Island was it. And I couldn't exactly bunk back in my old cabin with Hera's threat hovering in the air.

Really, the only way for the both of us to settle down would be for Hera to revoke her banishment, and I seriously doubted the Queen of Olympus was eager to do away with her punishment.

"Maybe," I chirped, ruffling Sam's hair. She called out in annoyance and I smiled. "We'll just have to wait and see."

* * *

The salty air hit me before we were even within a mile of my childhood vacation spot. It was all I could do not to run ahead of Sam, who trotted along beside me, chattering amicably about the pros and cons of moving to Canada.

"I mean, I bet I could get a library book or something, right? Library cards don't cost money, and I can just use a fake name. So we could get a book at the library, and we wouldn't even have to use a computer." She seemed to consider something else. "And, I mean, checking housing developments and stuff can be done in person, right? I bet we could get an apartment _really cheap _in Canada. What do you think?"

Jittery with the excitement of getting closer to the ocean, I almost didn't catch her question. "Huh?" I said, glancing down at her. "Uh . . . I don't know. Canada wasn't a thing for me."

Sam nodded glumly. "Well, I get that. I mean, I grew up in Arizona. Not exactly where you live if you want to take regular visits to the north, right? But I heard from friends and stuff in school that it's _really _beautiful up there, and they've got these snowy mountains to hike for me and gorgeous beaches for you. And the people there are supposed to be all nice and stuff."

I shrugged. "All I know are the stereotypes."

Sam looked up at me with a frown.

"They finish every sentence with 'eh', have no backbone to their law, and are chipper to a painful and perky extent."

Sam scrunched up her face in uncertainty. "Well . . . stereotypes are stupid. I bet it's great up there."

"Always the optimist, you are." I ruffled her hair again and Sam ducked, calling me the rudest name I would let her: "Fin Face." I snorted, only to pull up short when the shore came into sight.

It had been just under five years since I'd laid eyes on Montauk Beach, and in all that time, it was unchanged. The low tide lapped softly across the gravel along the shoreline. A lighthouse scanned the horizon in the distance. Orange bathed the sky as the sun set on the other side of the hill, and a small, dilapidated hut was nestled at the base of it.

The hut - closer to a cabin, actually - was the saddest part of the scene, seemingly ignored for a prolonged period of time. My ADHD drew my attention and I motioned Sam toward it, despite the ease of dropping the pack in the water and watching the waves pull it under. Sam tried to argue with me, but I paid her no heed. Something pulled me toward the hut, and after so long of trusting my gut, I was loath to discount it now.

My shoes were perfectly dry in the water, but Sam complained about getting her feet wet. "Okay, fine," she said. "After we drop the stupid apples off, I get to swim. Deal?"

"Hmm, sure."

"Are you even _listening _to me?"

"No."

"Smart-alec."

I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw the cabin up close. A wall of memories slammed into me full-force and I realized, despairingly, that it was the same place my mom and me rented out back when I was kid and escaping Smelly Gabe. Back then, it had been grey and green, somewhat like the sea at storm, but now the paint peeled off to reveal water-abused wood. The door was coming off its hinges. Even here, in a paradise of oceanfront, there was disgusting graffiti all over it. Gang signatures and profane words on the window frames.

Despite how loudly my mind screamed at me to just finish and go, I pushed the door open. I bit back a sob when it fell off.

The interior was even worse than the outside. The beds my mother and I had slept in were shredded, the springs rusted in the humid air. The pillows supplied by the company were turned inside out, white fluffing spread everywhere. The fireplace, once a place of comfort where I learned the few vague details of my father when I was four, was unclean. The ash was now pale grey and cold to the touch, some of it coagulated thanks to the wet breezes from the ocean. Broken glass littered the ground from the windows. It was so bad that Sam called out, lifting up her foot with a shard embedded in her sneaker.

I snapped out of my daze then, rushing over to Sam and helping her limp out of the cabin. I sat her down in front of it. "Brace yourself," I told her. She nodded, and I yanked the glass from her foot.

She squeezed her eyes shut, hissing vehemently in pain. "I'll let you cuss," I smiled. "Just this once, though."

And thus, the string of profanities spilled from her mouth as I removed her shoe and examined the relatively shallow wound. But the glass had been jagged and dirty. I wished I had some alcohol, but all of our First Aid Supplies were in my MIA pack, lost somewhere on Mount Orthys. So I had to settle for the canteen I had saved in with the apples. I dribbled a conservative amount on the wound and it started healing up.

Sam sucked in a breath, tensing, and she relaxed with a sigh. She retied her shoe, soggy and holey already, and grumbled about it being unfair. "Thanks," she told me, rubbing her soles. "That hurt."

"Well, shards of glass are not normal members of your anatomy."

"Again, smart-alec."

I chortled, helping her onto her feet. She limped a little on the foot. "It'll be sore for a few minutes," I told her. "Just walk it off."

"What do you know about pain?" she shot back angrily. "You're invincible."

It was a lighthearted jab of a jest, really. Sam hadn't meant it harshly, and her tone hadn't even been that angry. But the question gnawed at me for a heartbeat, and my mind - masochist that it was - flashed back to something The Torturer said the first session we'd had: _When I am done, you will know true pain. _

And I do.

"Hecate's poison isn't exactly sunshine and daises, Sam," I lied, voice more firm than it needed to be. Sam looked ashamed, staring at the ground as she leaned against me for support. We headed toward the sand domes, and I was tempted to "race" her. "Don't worry about it, kiddo. You didn't mean anything by it."

Sam shrugged. "Sorry, though. And don't call me 'kiddo!' I'm a preteen!"

"Whatever, _preteen._"

"I hate you."

"And I love you too."

Sam pulled up short as though that sentence had taken her aback. She jumped a little on her foot, frowning in confusion. "Did you actually just say that to me?" Her voice was cautious, as though reluctant to show an emotional reaction to what I said.

I shrugged. "You're like my little sister," I told her. "Of course I love you. Heck, I'd give anything for you." _Including my life, _I didn't add, knowing the reaction it would get.

Sam's dumbstruck expression was terrifying. A small part of me started lecturing my brain on impulsive sentences. The stigma with "I love you" isn't all brotherly and sibling-related anymore. You freaked her out. She doesn't know how to take it. Way to go, dipshit, you scared off your _only _companion. A+, Jackass Jackson. You really fucked it up this time.

And etcetera.

Then she hugged me almost as tight as she had on Olympus and I groaned at the sudden depletion of air. "I love you too!" she cried. "I really, really do. You're like my dad, only not. I love you!"

My family life (except for my first stepfather and real dad) had always been very full of love and adoration, so Sam's reaction took me aback. It was a gradually dawning realization when it occurred to me that she had been _beaten _at her old home. Love was not part and parcel of that experience. I was just relieved she didn't have a negative connotation with that statement.

I ruffled her hair and, once again, she objected. With that, we started to the shore and sat down the water.

I watched the waves lap and fell into a sort of meditative zone. The world bled away like watercolor when wet, leaving nothing but a tranquil white screen. I closed my eyes, drinking in the taste of the ocean on my tongue, the slight burn to my nostrils when they picked up the pure ocean water. I removed my shoes and stretched my toes into the surf, sighing contentedly at the cooling action the water gave. Energy surged through my veins, so much that I could run a million laps.

I laid back, watching the sky as it tinted deeper and deeper orange until, at last, the sun disappeared behind the sea, as though dipping into the endless expanse of blue.

Out here, the stars were clearer than closer in the city. They sparkled joyously, a quarter moon playing out from wispy clouds of shadow. I propped my head on my hands, a relieved smile playing across my lips.

For the first time in a long time, my world was falling into place. I had Sam, I had order to my chaos, and I had a reason to keep going strong. Everything was perfect, despite the loss I had faced when watching Calypso tumble to her death. She was at peace in Elysium Fields, I was certain; the dead were not to be mourned, just their impacts on your life.

Calypso had brought me back to Sam, and for that I was eternally grateful. I wouldn't disgrace her memory by bawling over her untimely demise.

"You still want to go for a swim?" I asked suddenly, looking over at Sam.

She seemed startled, as though she had fallen into the same pensive state I had. That was the wonderful part of the ocean, really; how universal it was. "What?" Sam blinked. "Really? Yeah, I'd love to."

I smirked and pushed myself up, rising to my feet. "Okay, take my hand."

Sam scowled. "Just because I grew up in the desert doesn't mean I can't swim. I love water."

"I'm not arguing about that," I told her patiently. "I'm a son of Poseidon, right?"

"You have amnesia, Percy?"

"Ha ha," I said sarcastically. "Just take my hand and see."

Sam looked uncertain, but she clasped my hand firmly, almost like I was a lifesaver. I wondered about her claim to being able to swim and waded in with her to about mid-thigh. "Ready?" I asked.

She frowned. "For what?"

And then we dove.

The ocean flooded my senses, flying up my nose. I breathed it in, cleaner than the polluted air on the surface. The sea creatures converged on me, fish and hippocampi alike coming to check out their Lord's son as he kicked his feet deeper into the water, an air bubble forming around his smaller companion.

I focused on Sam and released her hand. The air bubble held.

She gaped around through the murky blue water as the fish found their way to her. Sam sucked in a deep breath, apparently unable to hold it, and looked shocked to find that she could breathe normally. She glanced at me uncertainly as a school of striped bass came to investigate her. Mentally they found the new girl odd and looked to me in confusion, like: _My lord, what is this strange and yet docile human in the water? She does not have that unnatural thing on her. _

Well, actually, they thought that directly; I can hear sea creatures think and understand what they mean. It's sort of awesome in a creepy, unnatural and utterly demigod way.

"This is Sam," I told them, bubbles issuing a little from my mouth.

Sam whirled on me, shocked. Her eyes were wide with awe and I smiled with a small shrug. "Part of being me," I explained.

Sam shook her head and returned to examining her surroundings. I was struck with an idea. "Go ahead and pet them," I encouraged. Sam looked uneasy. "I promise they won't run away, and I'll maintain the bubble." My voice was severely distorted by the water, but I liked how I sounded better down here.

Still hesitant, Sam reached out to bluefish and stroked his fin. He made a fish equivalent to a purr, and Sam beamed in pride. The fish flocked (swam like moths, whatever mixed metaphor you want to use) to her, all eager to receive a touch of love from the bright light in the ocean. I could tell they appreciated her company as much as I did. Well, maybe half.

Sam spun around, now comfortable in her air bubble, and went about paying attention to every fish she could. She giggled, her face brighter than Apollo's sun chariot, and I had never seen her so lively before. That persistent glint in her eyes shined full force, a smile revealing barely yellowed teeth. The small pimple on her cheek could have been a dimple, and she was, to be perfectly honest, cuter than anything I had ever seen before.

I reclined on the waves, not having to keep myself afloat, and lounged while Sam enjoyed herself. It didn't matter how much time passed down here; the water could keep replenishing my reserves and I could keep up the air bubble indefinitely. But Sam and I, sadly, were people, and people belonged on the ground. Such was the obnoxious and unbearably true stigma.

After an indeterminate amount of time, I warned Sam to hold her breath and popped the bubble. She looked disappointed, but I could tell from the glow of her skin that it had been an experience well-remembered. I hoped that, when the inevitable happened and fate caught up with me, that would be something she could hold onto.

We reached the surface and Sam bobbed in the waves a little bit, splashing around and just generally having a good time. I told her she would get pruney if she hung out too long, but she ignored me. I couldn't blame her; there was no place like Montauk with a good chilling breeze and low tide.

But the high tide was coming, and however much I was loath to do it, I dragged her from the ocean and tapped her. She dried instantly.

A mock pout formed on her lip and Sam tried to slip past me back to the water, but I caught her and said, "Oh, no you don't. Come back here, kiddo."

We shared a long laugh and jogged over to our belongings. They were still on the shore, safe and sound, like I expected them to be. I gathered everything up and checked to insure the canteen was still in its brown pack before slinging it on my shoulder. I guided Sam toward the road heading north.

Only to stop dead when I saw the monsters waiting in the shadows, a great wall of death snarling and hissing at us.

And then the dracanae in the front raised her sword with a blood-curdling battle cry.

**I'm sorry that wound up so choppy of a chapter. I had to incorporate a lot in a very small space, but I tried to focus on key moments so it wasn't all tell. I would appreciate it if you told me how it read.**


	7. Chapter 7

**As my more veteran readers know, I am a serious troll. Those of you who are first discovering _The Forgotten Fear _and my writing will rapidly learn that I adore mean cliffhangers. Be grateful you're getting such prompt updates; I left the first draft of this story on a a vicious "What happens now?" moment and no one gets to find out what happens until I catch up with myself.**

**Warning: This is a serious tissue chapter. I cried writing this, and I _never _cry at my own writing. If you want to torture yourself, listen to "Kiss It All Better" by _He Is We _while you're reading that part. You will know when, believe me. I am exceptionally proud of this chapter; it is by far one of the best pieces of my writing ever. I even cried on the reread for typos. **

**I hope you enjoy it.**

Chapter Seven: The Greek Tragedy

"Run!"

My command was wrenched from my throat needlessly, because Sam was already sprinting back the way we'd come, dust flying up around her in a cloud of brown. Within seconds, I had taken to her example, throwing back a massive wave into the horde as they bore down on us from the shallow incline, weapons and teeth and claws bared for the killing.

Momentum was a wonderful thing. Until your legs were literally too tired to function as limbs, it could keep you moving long after energy was depleted. I counted on that alone to reassure me that Sam wouldn't collapse.

I shot a fearful look over my shoulder. The demons were crashing toward me, sloshing through the water unhindered. Rage was palpable in their gazes, radiating toward the hero who had vaporized many of their brethren over his time. And they were beyond a couple dozen; they were closer to double that, tickling fifty strong. Unheard of for such high concentrations of monsters, yes, but that only made matters more terrifying.

My eyes flitted around, searching frantically for anything to use as an advantage against our advisories. Running was fine and good, but only if it was temporary; eventually, you ran out of steam.

Despair began to drag me down, but then I spotted a red truck out of the corner of my eye. I tapped Sam on the shoulder and she staggered, some of the color having receded from her face. I pointed at the parked vehicle, and despite her morally-sound conscience, she didn't say a word about Grand Theft Auto. I'd leave it as intact as I could get away with.

I muttered a short, breathless prayer under my breath, even though I knew it was in vain. "Ares, help."

I could already hear his pompous voice from above: _Yeah right, punk. Fight your own battles. _

Then Sam called out as she lurched forward, tripping up on something. I steadied her, already continuing forward. But then I saw a flash of black juxtaposing the monotone brown of the beach sand. A Glock pistol sat on the ground, seemingly out of nowhere. I gaped; it was the same handgun I had taken from the failed assassin when Ares ran him over.

I scooped it up and shoved it into Sam's hands. "Fire it into the horde," I instructed, barreling toward the truck anew. I saw the silver lettering of _Ford _on the back by the license plate. "Keep them distracted. I've got to get this thing moving."

Sam nodded, looking weak in the knees. I held her up until we reached the bed of the truck. She climbed in, jumping over the railing and crouching down. I drew Riptide and shattered the driver's side window with its hilt, immediately shrinking it back into a pen. I popped the locking mechanism and wrenched the door open, slamming it shut as I climbed in.

I unsheathed Anne's knife and popped off the cover around the steering wheel. My fingers fumbled with the red wires, cutting them and twisting them together. The others I cut as well, tapping them together, once, twice. The truck revved to life and I breathed a sigh of relief, shifting it into drive.

I could hear a series of gunshots from the back as Sam gave me cover fire. I pounded Anne's hilt into the back windows too and Sam leapt through, crashing ungracefully onto the back seats. "They're right on top of us!" she alerted me, jumping into the passenger's seat and pulling the buckle across her front. Like crashing and burning was the worst of our problems.

The truck burned rubber out of that parking space and I drove one-handed, yanking the stupid buckle over my lap as well when my younger charge gave me the stink eye. Sam kept watch, twisting around to watch as the horde became a small dot in the distance. The speedometer almost maxed out; my foot was flat on the floor of the truck and I didn't even think about breaking.

If I ever did reintroduce myself into civilized life, it wouldn't be with my own car; I'd probably cause a trillion accidents just because I was used to demanding getaways.

Sam and I breathed a sigh of relief and I edged off the accelerator, letting it dip down to around seventy. But my eyes constantly returned to the rear-view mirror, waiting for the horde to reappear when least expected.

Sam chuckled sardonically, head falling back against the seat. She was _just _too short for the headrest, something she looked unhappy about as she glowered as the conformed extension of the seat. She tucked a strand of hair from her face, still hanging in her eyes. She pulled the hair-tie from her wrist and pulled it back in a sloppy, frizzy ponytail.

"Well," she sighed, glancing back over her shoulder again. "That was awfully fun."

I could only ruffle her hair in response.

* * *

The car was running low on fuel and I knew it would end badly if I didn't pull off the road. As I turned the steering wheel, lowering the speed to around thirty, then twenty, finally zeroing out as I turned off the ignition. I remembered a gas station not too far down the road for the owner to use if they ever found it - which they would, so long as they had a bit of brain power. We weren't exactly trying to lose _them_; the monsters were a bigger concern.

Sam pouted when I disconnected the wires and the car shut off. She caressed the door lovingly, sticking out her lower lip at me and batting her eyelashes. "But, Percy, it's so _comfortable._"

"You're the first person to criticize me on the evils of stealing, Sam," I pointed out and opened the door, jumping out. "Now you're changing your tune?"

Sam opened her own door, slumping against the truck dejectedly as I walked around the engine block. "No," she admitted. "I'm just a hypocrite who _really _likes to drive. Like, a lot."

I chuckled and clapped her on the back. "Come on," I prompted, nodding toward the trees beckoning to us in the night. "There should be a clearing somewhere in there."

"Can't we sleep in the car?"

"Love to," I confessed. "but it'll reported stolen pretty fast. I'd hate for our luck to run out and the both of get dragged to jail because of stealing a car."

"It's like self-defense!" she protested as I steered her away from the tempting cushions of civilized existence. "They can't incarcerate us because we were trying to survive."

"Yeah. We were running away from a massive monster horde straight out of the Greek myths. What kind of cop is going to believe that? He'll think I got you drug-happy or something 'logical' like that."

"Mortals are stupid," Sam grumbled, ducking under the first of many branches. I drew Riptide for illumination and led the way in after her first step, Sam clinging to my side like she was glued there.

We found a somewhat cozy place to hunker for the night with a few non-brambly logs to use as pillows while we slept. I cleared away the leaves and debris while Sam situated herself against a tree, moaning and complaining about preferring the truck to this.

"Suck it up," I chided. "You've slept on worse."

She stuck her tongue out at me as I reclined on my very own log, clutching the pack with the canteen and gun to my chest while hanging onto Riptide for light if we needed it.

And with a yawned, "Good night" I dosed off.

_My dreams were never uneventful, but tonight was exceptionally bad. I saw Calypso on Mount Orthys, and I was certain whatever closure I thought I'd found over her death had been temporary and The Torturer would force me to watch her plummet on repeat. But then something surprising happened._

_Calypso staggered against the red-haired Hesperide, Aigle, who whispered endearments at her. "Oh, my poor, lovesick sister. We warned thee not to fall in love with the hero, but thee did not listen. He let thee fall to thy death."_

_Calypso frowned as Aigle helped her onto a rock, rubbing her eyes as though coming out of a daze. Her dress was covered in blood, as though different parts of her had been cut at varying depths and splotched it. Her hair was wild about her face, and for the first time ever, she looked imperfect._

_"I do not understand, Aigle," she muttered. "Percy would never do such a thing. I do not remember what happened very clearly."_

_Aigle looked sorrowful as she crouched down and cupped Calypso's face. Her eyes shined with false compassion, but I suspected, in Calypso's delirious state, the expression must have looked genuine. "I do. Calypso, sweet Calypso, thee pleaded with him to help thee. But he sought glory in the death of poor Ladon" - she motioned at the many heads on the ground and her limp pet, stretched below the branches of The Tree of Immortality - "and released thee. My heart cried in despair when I saw thee fall. I gave him the Apples so he would not murder my other sisters."_

_Calypso blinked and stared off into the distance, taking a stray strand of hair and staring at it as though she had never seen herself in such disarray. "But if I was dead, then why I am here now?"_

_Aigle smiled. "Praises to The Fates, Calypso, when we went to collect thy body, thee was awake and confused. Our father must have used some ounce of his constrained power to save thee from certain death."_

_Calypso scowled as though that was incongruent with what she understood. It reminded me, painfully, of what Annabeth looked like when she heard something that made no logical sense to her. "Atlas saved me?" Calypso echoed, staring at the rocks of the Mountain of Despair. "But he loathes me more than the Olympians. Why would he see my life preserved?"_

_Aigle beamed at her and took her face in her hands. "The Olympians diluted thee upon that island, sister. Atlas loves thee, very much. He was determined to see thee safe when he was free. Father was frightful then, as he will be again, given time."_

_Calypso darted from her sister's grasp, affronted and suddenly very alert. "Time for what?"_

_Aigle simpered, her face turning cruel in the pale light of the moon. "Why, time for revenge, my dear sister. Revenge upon that hero who so mercilessly slayed you, revenge on the Olympians for deceiving you. It has come time for life in the face of death." She caressed Calypso's face, brushing away the hair from her eyes and smearing dirt across her cheek. "It is time for The Age of Fear." _

I bolted awake, gasping for air as the dream shattered. The pack was clutched even tighter against me and I had flailed Riptide about me in my fitful rest. A branch had been cut down on top of me. Glancing to my left, I saw Sam slumbering peacefully, undisturbed by my panicked wakefulness.

My chest heaved. Something nagged on me, warning me not to go back to sleep; the danger was not past. My mind wheeled with what Aigle had said. "It is time for The Age of Fear." What did that mean?

More importantly, _who _did that mean?

Something snapped to my right and I scrambled to my feet. Red eyes pierced the night, but everything else was solid shadow. My heart stopped when I saw the hellhound prowl closer, nose sniffing at the air as its eyes fixated on me.

I heard whooping from farther off, followed by the crashing of hooves and feet and the slithering of snake legs.

I dispatched with the hellhound too late, kicking Sam awake and yelling, "Come on!"

Sam was slow to wake on her best days, but that exclamation communicated every ounce of urgency it needed to. She surged to her feet, reaching into the pack for the gun again and dashing ahead of me. I hated giving her the pistol a second time, but my gut constricted at the notion of giving her Anne's knife and Riptide would never work for her.

Without arguing about it, I set off after her, the branches smacking me hard in the face and stinging across my skin as I lurched through the woods. The underbrush was impossible to navigate, but our smaller forms and number gave us a greater advantage of getting through it intact. Unfortunately, as monster hordes tended to do, this one didn't agree to stigmas or physics; they crashed their way through, hollering and bellowing in vengeance after us.

They had gotten themselves a few archers now. Snake women released arrows toward us, which you can imagine improved our fun. One bolt nearly took off my ear, another narrowly missed Sam's shoulder and embedded in a tree. Ever the frankest, Sam turned, planted her feet, and shot the bow-snake in the chest. She burst into dust, which the monsters promptly blundered through.

"Nice shot," I commended. "Now _run_!"

Sam obeyed without hesitation, clamoring over the logs and trees easier than I could. She laughed, more lively than a dryad in the same chase. Meanwhile, I lagged behind, resolving to grumble at her once this was all said and done.

It was far off, but I could feel a body of water getting closer. A large body, plenty to retaliate against the monsters with if I could get to it. I motioned at Sam to tell her as such - a fist, palm outward, and then rapidly flicking it in before opening it - and she nodded her understanding. I pointed up-right and she altered her course. I blundered behind her.

The water was becoming painful, eager to serve my will but too far away to do any good without killing me. I gritted my teeth together, vision tinting red, but blinked away the pain and leapt over the log into open area. A dirt road was behind us and a tall green hill rolled in front of us. The first hues of morning were dawning, and I prayed to the gods that was a sign for good.

Sam fought up the slope. I could see her fighting to keep going; her stamina was wearing down again. I shouted after her, words of encouragement and praise spilling past my lips, and she redoubled her efforts. Uneven pants unnerved me, her skin blotchy and white. Once we were settled, I would not stop until she was safe and well-rested.

The monsters were almost behind us. Once we reached that shore, I could dive underwater and fortify our position there. We could hide out as long as we needed to, and it was easy for me to scout above for residual foes.

But we had to get there first.

We were almost at the crest of the hill. I could sense safety on the other side. "We're almost there!" I encouraged.

Sam nodded breathlessly. I was right behind her, pushing her with my proximity. The monsters strained to pursue us, but they kept bumping into each other and slipping. I grinned victoriously, proud of my young ward for doing so well.

But then the definitive _twang _of a bowstring filled my ears and an arrow quivered through the air. For me, it traveled in slow motion, glancing off my shirt and tearing the fabric as it rebounded toward Sam, struggling and oblivious to her impending doom.

For all the slowness of my perception, my voice was just that much lagging. My warning of "NO!" came five seconds too late.

Sam stiffened as the arrow pierced her gut, smack-dab in the middle of her stomach. One leg raised to keep climbing, she had no balance and tumbled backward into me. The shaft snapped against the ground and tore her flesh even more as she tumbled into the ranks of the gaining horde.

There was no time for shock. Riptide was heavy in my hands within seconds and any exhaustion I might have felt was vanquished by the imminent crisis. I charged the monsters, my sword arcing through the air in a blur of gold and sentencing every last fiend to Tartarus, where they belonged.

Nothing was safe. A determined sneer formed on my face, an indefinite growl at anything that dared come close to the little girl they attempted to overwhelm. Sam was still on the ground, but small whimpers of pain reached my ears. As long as she lived, the monsters died.

I blocked an overhead attack from a double-dagger wielding _empousa, _only to slip up her defense and slice off her head. Another lunged from my blind side as I whirled around. The spear bounded harmlessly from my chest into a Cyclops's gut. As the giant burst into dust, so did the dracanae. The smattering of telekhines pressed me, but their small stature made them easy prey. As their claws sought my weak point, I sought dust to dust. A strange infantile looking thing only a few feet taller than the short fish-demons came after me, waving its arms about like it was throwing a temper-tantrum. That one crumbled to earthen dirt.

More came, and still more I killed. Nothing was safe, nothing was immune. All that mattered to me in my narrow world was Sam's welfare and the demons who wanted to harm it. Without a scrap of self-preservation, they didn't stand a chance.

An earthquake shook the foundations of the earth, knocking the choice few foes remaining off balance. My goal was crystal clear at that point: Slaughter.

Riptide plunged into the chest of the last dracanae, and my spoil was her bow. The same one that had pierced Sam.

I reveled in watching her disintegrate.

Riptide remained buried in the ground as I scrambled over to Sam's side. Blood pooled around her, staining the grass around her paling form. Her eyes were closed, face whiter than sea foam. The tip of the arrow protruded from her stomach.

I looked around frantically, forcing myself to breathe carefully and deeply. I spotted the brown pack in the grass and lunged for it, pulling out the canteen and holding it at the ready.

I grasped the shaft of the arrow firmly and breathed, "Brace yourself."

Sam said nothing.

I yanked the foreign body from her chest, compressing it with my hand as I tore my shirt and replaced my palm with that. Blood stained it all the way through in seconds. With my teeth, I tore off the cap to the canteen and spit it out. I dribbled the godly drink into Sam's open mouth. It pooled there, gathering in her cheeks and trickling past her blue lips.

I closed her mouth and supported her head, still pressing against her stomach. Still more blood. I did my best to keep her head up with my knee so the nectar didn't drip onto the ground and tapped her throat, trying to trigger her swallowing reflex. It should have already worked. Wasn't that what happened when liquid hit the back of your throat? You swallowed so you didn't aspirate.

"Sam?" I choked, trying to get _something _of a response from my uncharacteristically mute companion. Her eyes did not flutter and her cheeks did not turn red with mirth at making me worried. No _you're so easy, Percy _left her lips this time. Nothing.

Tears spilled past my eyelashes I gulped, tapping her cheek frantically. "Sam? Wake up, kiddo. You hear that? I called you kiddo. Yell at me."

Her lips did not move.

"Sam?" I gasped. "Come _on, _Samantha Angela Fisher, _fight. __I'm _older than you. _I'm _the stupid, selfless hero. _I'm _supposed to die first. Wake up!"

Silence pervaded the hillside.

I wouldn't prob her neck for life, because she was _alive. _I didn't need the verification. She was alive, damn it. She was alive. She was alive! "She's alive!" I screamed through the waterfall of tears. "You hear that, Hades? She's alive! You don't get to take her like you took your own daughter, you bastard! She's alive!"

My cries echoed off of nothing and ended as soon as they began. Only my ragged breaths and sobs were audible. Sam's chest did not rise and fall in the tell-tale sign of life. Her lips were not constantly moving like they always were. Her skin was pale as snow, lips bluer than a Hyperborean's skin. Her dark brown hair looked black in the night. She could have been a miniature Snow White, asleep in her glass bed, waiting for Prince Charming to save her.

I tilted her head up, and the nectar slipped past her lips, un-drank. Not a sip. Not a drop.

I shook my head. "No," I breathed. "You can't be dead. Listen to me, Sam, you can't be dead." She didn't answer. "What am I going to do without you? Huh? Don't be selfish. You're not the only one suffering here. Wake up! I can't live without you. You're all I've got. I don't have a home anymore. Calypso is either dead or hates me. Annabeth is a part of the past I can never have back. Everything has been taken from me. Everything except you."

She insisted on not stirring from her perpetual sleep.

I sobbed, my heart shattering in my chest. My lip quivered. "Sam?" A breeze chilled me, but she didn't shiver. "I'll move to Canada," I promised. "Just like you wanted. We'll get a house in the middle of the woods so you watch everything turn to fall. I'll make it work. I swear. We'll get to be picture perfect. You'll get a boyfriend and I'll growl. I'll get a job and you'll complain about me never being home. Maybe I'll meet a nice Canadian woman. But that's not going to happen if you don't _wake up._"

And even so, she did not answer.

My body shook with sobs. My hand had stopped applying pressure on her wound a long time ago, around the time it stopped bleeding. I brushed the trail of nectar from her jaw. My mouth was open as I struggled to suppress the sobs, but seeing her expressionless face, so polar opposite of the lively little girl I had grown so fond of, broke me like glass. I came unglued, clutching her to my chest and quaking with violent lamentation.

The darkness receded to a reluctant dawn, but it was a dirty, lying sunrise. It was supposed to foretell new beginnings, new chances. This one was just to spite me in the face of Sam's . . .

I imagined some little kid somewhere getting the best news of his life and smiling expansively at the rising sun, thanking Apollo for giving him a brand new chance. People all over the world were rejoicing in the morning light. People laughed and jested and played.

And the gods watched ever from their pristine thrones, spectating on the whims of mortals impassively. My father watched his son grieve for the . . . silence . . . of his charge. I swore to protect Sam. I failed. And he did _nothing. _Hera did _nothing. _Zeus did _nothing. _They all did _nothing. _

"Is this fun for you?" I demanded of the heavens, and they spilt open as if on cue to spill rain in my face. Sam's blood washed away with the rainwater. "Are you all having a brilliant laugh in front of the TV on Olympus? Haven't you taken enough from me? Annabeth and the others can't know I exist. Calypso is dead. Sam is - Haven't you taken enough?"

I yearned for a bolt of lightning to descend from the heavens upon me. Burn me to a crisp so I could accompany Sam into Hades like I had with everything else. But nothing came, because Zeus was not capable of such mercy. He suspended his daughter indefinitely as a tree instead of letting her fall asleep peacefully.

It was too much to ask of a heartless tyrant for a scrap of human pity. Especially when he wasn't human.

I couldn't do it anymore. If it wasn't for the gods' fucking errand, Sam wouldn't be . . . so quiet. We would be in Staten Island, congratulating one another on successfully making it through another month. Eating ice cream. Laughing in the rain. Anything but this.

"This is all your fault," I gasped, rocking Sam against my chest. "This is all your fault! I won't be your damn pawn anymore, Hera! I won't let you control me! I make my own destiny! I make my own - " My voice caught.

I laid Sam down gingerly and reached behind my back. Anne's knife glinted in the sunlight, rain splashing from its surface. My face reflected in the Celestial bronze of the dagger, eyes puffy and red from crying. My scar was a jagged reminder across my face, slim and black and disgusting. My hair was plastered to my face because I let myself get wet. I was shirtless, and my flesh was still scarred from my time in Tartarus.

The poison would come to life in a few days and I would return to Tartarus. But if I died now, I could avoid all of that. If The Fates and the Judges allowed, I would go to Elysium Fields with Sam.

My resolve hardened more than it ever had before. The water still called to me, compelling me closer and closer. That would be as good as any place, I decided. Sam had loved being underwater, and I would grant her an eternity of that. The fish would love having her indefinitely.

I scooped her into my arms, still crying. But the tears were softer now, more affirmed. I staggered to the crest of the hill and down it, ignoring the power that rippled around me. Disregarding the familiar pine tree with a dragon asleep around it and a glowing piece of cloth hanging from its branch. Was oblivious to the blue house out of the corner of my eye. Scoffing at the pegasus flying overhead. Paid no heed to the Omega of cabins across a river. I even ignored the river; Sam loved the ocean and she would have no less than the ocean.

My feet carried me, uncaring to the world around me as it came alive with Greek magic. I didn't see the teenagers when they spotted me, pointing and crying out. They raced toward me, screaming something - a name I should remember but couldn't - and enveloped me. I pretended like they didn't exist.

A brown-haired elfish man wearing an orange shirt and bead necklace cut me off. "We've got her."

I shook my head and tried to soldier on. The brunette tripped me and the others caught Sam in their arms. A stretcher was there - when it had arrived I wasn't sure. A familiar blonde girl looked at me, her eyes widening into saucers. "I know you," she breathed.

I watched them carry Sam away and my heart had never felt so hollow. "No!" I screamed, lunging after them. I grabbed his pant leg. "She's all I have! Please!"

The blonde crouched beside me, fighting to take the knife from me. "It's okay," she placated.

"Sam!"

"We have healers. Medicine that can help her. We can help you too." She yanked the knife from my weak grasp and helped me to my feet. I didn't have the will to resist; they were taking Sam away. They were taking my life away.

"NO!"

"We will save her," she promised, an empty lie. A stupid lie.

"Give her back! Please!"

"We will. We'll help her, I promise." I limped against the blonde as she helped me to the blue house. I was too numb, too shocked to recognize the white trim as the place where I had discovered my heritage, had played a card game with a centaur. Too stupefied to understand where I was, who I was with.

The blonde continued. "You're both very tired. You've come a long way in very few days. I've introduced myself before, in the Empire State Building. My name is Annabeth Chase. My mother is Athena, goddess of wisdom. I'm a demigod, like the ones from the Greek myths. So are you. I'll explain everything more once you've calmed down."

She opened the door and people flooded toward me. They lowered me onto a bed. I caught a glimpse of dark hair, wet from the rain. People were all around her, talking in hushed, furtive voices. What were they saying? Why were they hiding her from me? Where was Sam?

I must have spoken aloud, because a rugged blond man with a square of ambrosia shushed me. There was another kid wearing dark clothing. The shadows clung to him and shaggy black hair hung over dark eyes. He had his hands stretched over Sam's form and he was chanting in an ancient language. What was he saying?

Something was wrong. I knew something was horribly wrong.

The people continued bustling, all in hurried, frantic tones. Minutes passed, and I couldn't see her. Couldn't see Sam's pale face. Let me see her, please. I want to see her when I die. I'm going to die. Let me see her.

And then there was a gasp. The dark man stopped chanting at the others immediately backed up.

I saw Sam's face, flushed red with color returning to her face. She bolted upright, coughing. Breathing.

I stared at the miracle. As Sam turned to me, eyes open and forming a silent question, I launched myself from the bed and hugged her.

"You're alive."


	8. Chapter 8

**I would like to thank LID919 for an in-depth review. Thank you so much.**

**Did I make any of you cry in the last chapter? Because that was sort of the aim. But Sam's alive because I discovered, while writing that scene, that I _cannot _kill her. I love her too much. So she is officially safe from ever being hurt like _that _again. Gods, writing that scene made me all teary-eyed, and I knew she was going to live.**

**Yikes, man.**

**There goes one of my plot ideas.**

Chapter Eight: Farewells and Running

Sam's cry of alarm was almost comical as it died off into the fabric of my shirt. "I'm alive," she agreed confusedly. "Uh . . . Hi?"

"From now on," I told her, crushing her to my chest so much I could hear her struggling to breathe. "if there's a bunch of monsters and we're running, you _run ahead. _Got it?"

Sam nodded energetically. "Can I breathe now?" she choked.

I released her, moving my grip to her shoulders instead and giving her a rigorous onceover, hand feeling along her chin and arms and examining the back of her head for injuries. Her eyes were even, an eyebrow arched above her right in a silent question. Her hair was sticky with some of her blood, but nothing fresh. Her clothes were stained by the crimson, splotchy and horrible on the wet, dark cloth of her top.

About the time I pulled her into a second hug was when her hands came into contact with her blood on my hands. Sam shot back like a bullet, bringing up my palms for scrutiny. "What happened?" she demanded. "Are you okay? I don't remember anything after falling asleep."

I opened my mouth, breath hitching as I struggled to think of a non-panic-inducing way to explain Sam's very dead form. "Sam, you-you weren't really breathing. You were hurt and I don't know how you're so . . ." I shook my head, checking her over again in speechless gratitude. "But that doesn't matter. You're okay now."

Sam scowled, about to argue with me, but her lips hovered apart when she saw the congregation of orange shirts by the exit. Her lips closed into a thin line and she narrowed her eyes. "Who are you people?" she barked, favoring each of the half dozen audience members with a scathing glare. "Where am I?"

I think that had to have been the moment when my overwhelming shock _actually _broke, because I looked over to the familiar faces of my childhood friends and my heart stopped. Not like it had when I saw Sam get shot or when she wouldn't answer my numerous pleas; more like several failed heartbeats, fluttering hopelessly against my rib cage in an attempt to mimic normal life function. I didn't gulp - I tried to, but the ball of saliva got stuck in my throat and I coughed it loose.

My eyes searched for the blonde-haired woman who escorted me into the Big House, and they settled on her proud, patient visage at the front of the crowd, arms crossed and fingers picking at her shirt sleeve anxiously. A warm smile spread across her unadorned lips and she stepped forward, offering a hand out to Sam and me.

"I'm Annabeth," she said, exuding stereotypical Californian friendliness. "We're met before. In the Empire State Building?"

"I remember," I growled, raking my brain for something to do. My eyes flitted back to the door, but the way was barred by way too many people. I recognized Will Solace - the blond man who saved Sam's life - and Travis Stoll among them. There were other less familiar individuals; younger than me by several years, probably still in their mid-to-late teens. The majority were brunettes, save for Will and a red-haired girl I couldn't attach a name to. Her face wasn't even familiar. All of them wore Camp Half-Blood T-shirts. "I'll talk to you, but I'm not a big fan of the Superbowl-level crowd."

Annabeth nodded and waved off the demigods. "Perfectly understandable. I'll have to request that Will and Nico stay in case something goes awry." She glanced at two of the crowd - the previously identified Will and darkly dressed chanter from before. As the procession of half-bloods shuffled out the door without complaint, although some looked reluctant, they hung back, resisting the throng.

The darkly dressed man met my eyes and recognition smacked me like a freight train. Nico di Angelo, son of Hades and my begrudged cousin, had matured well over the past five years. His once gaunt and pale olive complexion had taken on a degree of luster, like the sun witnessed a little bit more of his face than it used to, his once unknown ethnicity now clung to the hard square jaw dusted with unshaven dark stubble. Hair the color of a moonless night veiled his suspicious eyes, but the distrust was heavy in them. And far, far too knowing for my tastes.

Nico pushed off of the wall and started toward me. For one, scary second, I thought he was going to greet me by my name and condemn Camp Half-Blood to a fiery and wrathful death at the hands of Hera. But then he thrust out his hand on under my chin and a friendly (read: shocking) smile spread across his face. "I'm Nico," he said easily, like greeting demigods was something he did a lot. Since when? "Son of Hades. How are you doing?"

I made a concerted effort not to look stupefied, but Annabeth's easy laugh betrayed my outrageous fail. "Nico can be difficult to get used to," she allowed. "but eventually he blends in with everybody else. He makes a bit of an effort not to be noticed." Annabeth motioned at Will, who flashed me a smile blinding enough to make his father proud. "This is Will, son of Apollo. He was the one who healed Sam."

Nico's hand was still under my chin. I looked over at Will, who gave me a nonchalant wave, and then back to Nico's hand. Panic seized my chest and I struggled to think of something - _anything _- to say that would give them infallible proof that I was _not _me.

And then it hit me; a plan even Athena would have granted me a grudging admittance of genius. Simplistic and foolproof, utterly flawless because it was too concise and uncomplicated to have a chink in its armor.

It was the method bullies had used for _decades _in schools across the globe: Talk big, move powerfully, and _always _have a stick up your ass.

I snorted at Nico's offer of familiarity, batting it aside as I came to my feet. I leaned against the bed so I didn't fall back down, because _gods, _kneeling down that long _hurt _like Hera stuck a knife in my knee. "Well, love to say it was nice meeting you, but . . . I'd be lying." I turned my attention to the room at large, scoffing disinterestedly at Annabeth and rolling my eyes at the perky son of Apollo as his smile receded. "I think it's safe to say that we've overstayed our welcome . . . wherever 'here' is, and I think we should go. Right, Sam?"

Sam nodded energetically and hopped down. I lunged out to catch and help her if she was too weak, but she landed like cat and popped up without any issue, beaming as she intertwined her fingers with mine. "Yeah, I'm a little too restless anyway."

But Annabeth's hand pressed against my chest, barely touching me but giving me heart palpitations and rooting my feet to the floor like they'd been nailed there. "Listen to me," she pleaded, eyes beseeching as she locked eyes with me. My knees might have turned to Jell-O were it not for the steady, tethering force of Sam's hand in mine, keeping me rational and calm. "The world out there is _dangerous _for people like us." She paused dramatically. "Deadly."

I arched an eyebrow at her skeptically and summoned enough willpower to throw her hand off. "Dangerous?" I echoed. "You've got that right. But it hadn't killed us yet, and it's not going to. This place?" I gestured at Camp Half-Blood as a whole with my left hand. Scoffing, I continued, "Whatever this place is and whoever you people are, I'm not so sure you can offer the same."

Annabeth pursed her lips and leaned back, tapping her chin in thought while her eyes crinkled. "Paranoid but extremely protective of this little girl?" she mused aloud. "You don't fit into any character I can rightly name. A bit of a paradox, really." Scowling, she turned to Sam and crouched down halfway so she was level with her eyes. "You're stronger than even some demigod children at your age. I admire that. Resiliency is a valuable weapon to have. It's the one thing you have when you're completely unarmed and outnumbered." Annabeth chuckled, bending the rest of the way down and resting her hand on Sam's shoulder and winking at her. "You already know my name is Annabeth, and I think I know your name from your brother's exclamations. But Louisa isn't it. Is it?"

Sam released my hand and puffed out her chest defensively. I could tell she didn't like how close Annabeth was getting, but at the same time, she was beginning to respect her. I didn't blame her; Annabeth was just one of those people you either liked or didn't. Anyone with a brain learned to like her. The others were eviscerated.

Sam held out her hand, the slightest tremor in her fingers. "My name is Sam," she admitted, glancing up at me in fear. "I'm Sam."

Annabeth smiled. "I prefer honesty," she said. "so you're good now." Annabeth rose to her feet and focused on me again, clasping my right hand firmly and holding my gaze, one arm on my elbow to steady me and keep me from pulling away. Her grip was firm and yielding, as though ready to snap back and into defense if I turned hostile. The grudging respect that flashed across her face made me think my grasp was equally prepared. "However, your brother is still a mystery to me. I would like to know your name." She deadpanned all of that while holding my gaze.

She was intimidating me. I recognized the proud, stiff body language and simple sentences to be a form of menacing. Unfortunately for the otherwise frightening daughter of Athena, I knew this behavior was simply a method to earn my cooperation; not through fear, but through seeming bigger, more authoritative. She recognized another predator, uncooperative and reluctant to join the pack and was showing him how frightening she was alone and how much his assimilation would the community as a whole. The packs of wolves I'd encountered functioned the same way, often times, and the rest of the world was just as cutthroat. This was simply a less selfish motivation.

I weighed my options. Caving would indicate either a weakness - which would surely be exploited by the curious Nico di Angelo hovering just out of sight in the shadows, watching the exchange warily - or a concession, neither of which would be progressive. However, resisting would increase my fear factor and chance Annabeth deciding I was an actual danger and holding me prisoner.

Then I remembered: This was Camp Half-Blood, home of the world's worst bleeding hearts. And this was Annabeth Chase, the woman who, despite all her wisdom and discernment, had continuously attempted to waver the homicidal Luke Castellan to the side of the gods in full amnesty. They wouldn't imprison me; they would shy away from me, try to convince me to relax, but eventually (and by eventually, my time-table would take _maybe _five perfectly anti-Percy Jackson minutes) they would release me and I'd be Scot-free.

This was a dangerous game of political Cat and Mouse, life-altering Chess, and Fate-changing Poker. Little did Annabeth know, I had an ace up my sleeve.

I pounced. With a snarl and sharp, jerking hand motion to dislodge her grip. A finger into the pressure point between the bones of her forearm had her convulsing away. "I don't take well to people trying and failing to scare me," I hissed dangerously. "Now then, you've burned at my fuse until it doesn't exist, so before you deal with a explosion, I suggest you _back off _and _stop playing mind games._" And then I added with a flippant scoff, "You weren't even very good at it in the first place."

Annabeth stared me like I'd grown a second head. Her eyes were wide, mouth hanging open in an expression that couldn't decide if it was aghast or repulsed. "I - You - That hurt!"

I smirked. "Did it? Poor thing. Sorry, didn't mean to damage your sensitive barbie skin."

Checkmate.

Annabeth's face turned redder than the surface of Mars. Her lips pressed into a thin line, her pride having been attacked with a precision knife. But before Annabeth could lash out at me, Nico dashed over and gripped her arm. "He's not worth it," Nico advised. "You know that."

Annabeth looked murderous as she sucked in several deep breaths, deflating with every exhale. "You are a demigod," she told me. "A son of one of the Greek gods of Olympus. Sam and you both are, as are Nico and I. I understand being skeptical, and I know I came off a little . . . strongly, but I misguided you. I'm sorry. So, please, will you let me explain myself?"

"How about no?" I started to move around her, but then Sam caught me, pulling me up short. I turned around, about to reproach her, but then Sam batted her eyelashes at me sweetly. "What?" I demanded.

"I want to hear her out," Sam insisted. "You've got to admit it makes more sense than anything we've come up with."

"Sam - !" I stopped when I saw the look on her face. Anger. Seething, red hot anger festering in her usually bright, innocent eyes of light and compassion. It took me too long to realize why; Sam wasn't stupid. She knew I had been hiding things - important things - from her, and she also knew Camp Half-Blood was where she could get answers. She was going around me, getting satisfaction from whatever source she could.

Less than an hour ago, she almost died. And now she wanted to avert any future mishaps in that department.

"I'm staying," she said, for the first time actively disobeying me. I wasn't angry as much as flabbergasted, staring at my suddenly rebellious charge and feeling like the world was crashing down around me. Puzzle piece by puzzle piece of my _almost _paradisaical new life being shaken from its brethren and crashing to the ground. I felt my lungs stop working as my diaphragm struggled to compress air in and out but couldn't win. My heart valves fluttered, not working properly. I couldn't breathe. My pulse thumped in my ears under the constant roaring of water.

Everything was changing. Too much was changing.

I opened my mouth, trying to think of something to say, but I couldn't. Sam had stolen every word of protest from my throat and now held them in the palm of her tiny hand, completely in control.

I had the fleeting thought that Camp Half-Blood was good for her.

"You say we're children of the Greek gods?" Sam prompted, turning to Annabeth with intrigue written across her face. I could only watch in growing horror as Sam shifted through the secrets I had fought to hid her from. Her ignorance, her innocence was shattering in front of me. I couldn't protect her. "Those are Zeus and Hera and the like, right?" I _knew _she referred to the Queen of the Gods to hurt me.

Annabeth nodded, looking relieved that someone was listening to her. Nico backed up again, but he stayed actively in the conversation, glowering at me the whole while. "You nailed it," he praised Sam, but he didn't look at her. "The twelve Olympian gods and Hades are the most powerful of the Pantheon. Well, so they'd have us believe. I tend to think Hecate could fry all of their asses and still have time for lunch, but that's a personal opinion."

Annabeth snorted. "Purely personal," she confirmed, shooting Nico a look that suggested an inside joke had passed between the two of them. "Pardon Nico for the profanity, he has a poor filter."

Sam shrugged. "Heard it all before. So . . . why should I believe you?"

"You don't seem skeptical," Nico noted, drawing a Stygian iron knife from his belt and cleaning underneath his nails with it. I scoffed, which made he look up at me in burning hatred. "Unlike your brother or whatever here."

Sam shrugged, smirking. "I keep an opener mind than Eric. That's why he keeps me around - I don't get the same kind of tunnel-vision."

"Wow," Annabeth said, sounding mock-impressed. "And he exhibits a minor feat of intelligence. This comes as a surprise."

"Cut him some slack," Sam scolded. "He's been on the streets longer than I have. Paranoia is part of his blood." Sam tapped her foot thoughtfully. "I'd love to say I _can't _believe you because it's so far-fetched, but the stuff I've seen . . ." She looked over at me, frowning. "Hey, you know any of those monsters from the myths that can leave a scar like that?"

My jaw went slack. "Sam! Wha - ?"

"Don't you want to know what did that to you?" she asked innocently.

I opened and closed my eyes, too appalled to speak. "I can't believe you're - It was a crazy person, Sam! A lunatic, just like these guys. Listen to me, the people who have been trying to kill us are obviously strung out on drugs and part of some cult. The same cult these guys belong to, probably. I'm sorry I brought you here, but we have to _go._"

"We saved Sam!" Annabeth objected. "Don't you owe us a little trust for that?"

"And I gave it to you until you started talking like Wicca!" I roared. "And I don't believe in owing debts. That type of thinking gets people killed out there."

"It also makes friendships that are difficult to break!"

"Alliances!" I cried, desperation littering my voice. I was losing Sam. She was slipping through my fingertips, pulling away from me. My anchor to sanity was sinking away and I was drifting out into the waters of fear and madness. The light from my saving grace was fading into the distance. It was nothing but darkness from here. "And that's only if you are a remarkable judge of character, which I am. And every instinct in my body is telling me to run the other way!"

"Take a risk, Eric!" Sam pleaded, taking my hand. "Come on, challenging the status quo is one of your famous pastimes."

I stopped dead, my heart thumping futilely in my chest, as thought that action alone would keep me alive. "Is _that _what this is about?" I breathed, kneeling down and holding Sam's shoulders. "You . . ." I remembered the near-miss in the Empire State Building and it hit me like a freight train. Everything fell into place, and it made perfect sense. "That's what this has been about from the beginning, hasn't it? Making me settle down?" My eyes softened and I cupped her face. "You're tired of running, aren't you?"

"It's a rather exhausting lifestyle," Nico confirmed like I was being an idiot. "I tried it out for a while, but it got boring after the nearly dying every other hour became too routine for my tastes."

I ignored him and ran my fingers through my hair, finally seeing the error in my ways. Sam's sudden defiance toward me hadn't been a byproduct of her dying and realizing I hadn't been upfront with her; it was because she had had the final straw when it came to the runaway life and she wanted out. She was trying to pry into Annabeth's life and get her to bring her to Camp Half-Blood - both of us. Sam had convinced herself that Hera's threat was either bogus or easily avoided.

She had created some fantasy where the two of us lived happily in the demigod sanctuary and she never had to worry about how much food to eat again. Her efforts had been a selfless attempt at personal gain; give me back a fragment of my life and get one on her part.

"Or we could go to Canada," she breathed, smiling slightly. "That's always an option."

I shook my head sadly and kissed her forehead, pouring every ounce of my love and adoration for her into my lips as I did so. I felt Sam sag in defeat; she knew what was coming. "No, Sam," I told her. "Canada was never an option."

I looked up at Annabeth and Nico, frowning. "Whether you're right or wrong, I can't stay," I told them. "I was diagnosed with ADHD a few weeks before I ran away. Staying in one place is hard for me."

"A lot of people here have ADHD," Annabeth assured me. "It's one of the earmarks of a demigod. That coupled with dyslexia is almost surefire identification tactics."

I let my face darken to be believable.

Annabeth sighed. "You have dyslexia, don't you? It's because, as part of being directly related to Ancient Greece, we are hardwired to read the appropriate language. With minimal tutoring, we can speak it fluently."

I waved her off. "You see, that's the type of insanity I had to run away from." I shook my head. "I'm out of here, and there is no way in hell you're going to stop me." Heart shattering into a million pieces, I turned to Sam and fought back the tears. "But you convinced Sam. And I'm not going to keep her from what she wants."

Sam's eyes widened as I started to rise, throwing her arms around me and crying, "I change my mind! I want to stay with you! You're right, they're all crazy."

I pried Sam's arms off, solemn as I detached my rope from around me. Already, the grasp I'd had on the ledge overlooking my suicide was beginning to lessen. I wouldn't give myself a week. "Stop it, Sam!" I chastised, holding her arms at her sides and making her look at me. Tears cascaded down her cheeks and my heart continued breaking. "You want a bed to sleep in at night. You want a meal you _know _is going to be there when you wake up. You want a family that you're not afraid is going to die tomorrow. I get that. I really do. But it's _not for me. _Do you understand?"

"NO!" Sam wailed, fighting against my hold. She was too small and too weak, but she put up a very good struggle. "You can't leave me! You can't just abandon me!"

"I'm sorry!" I told her, starting to fray along the edges myself. Annabeth and Nico were watching the exchange in sick fascination. "We've got mutually exclusive goals," I insisted. "You know what that means, I know you do."

Sam shook her head. "I almost died! You're going to abandon me after that? You're just going to leave me?"

"I can't stay here, Sam! You know that!" I was losing control. I had to get out of here before I slipped up and said the wrong thing. Then the expression on Annabeth's face - determined challenge - would turn to shock and then anger and I'd never get out. "You know my track record," I amended, quieter, pleading with her in code to stop before I said something cataclysmic. I could see Annabeth's eyes narrowing. "And don't tell me going with me is what you really want, because you've already admitted it's not."

"Fine!" Sam roared. "I want a bed and I want food and I want not to die! But I'd rather starve and sleep in the woods every day and die a million times if it means I get to be with you! I don't want you to leave me! You're the only family I've got."

"You'll make more," I promised. "A bigger one. A better one." My voice dropped into a whisper and I leaned into her ear, making sure my voice would only sound husky mysterious to Nico and Annabeth. "I know this place. I know you will."

Sam sobbed madly now, trembling with the force of her tears. "Bu-but I love you. You told me you loved me. You told me I was like your little sister. You'd leave your own sister?"

I pulled her hair out of her face and kissed her eyes, just like my mom had done for me. "'If you love something, let it go'," I quoted. "I know this is hard, but goodbyes are part of life. I almost had to say goodbye to you a few minutes ago, and I'm not taking that chance again. But if these people hurt you - " I looked at Annabeth and scowled. "I swear to whatever god or gods exist that will watch them burn and laugh while they scream. I swear on my life and on everything I've ever known that I will tear them down with my bare hands. If they hurt you, so help me, they will know pain."

Annabeth turned pale and crouched down, level with me and a hand on Sam's shoulder. "You're wise," she complimented. "and I can tell you love Sam. So please, do both of yourselves a favor and _stay here. _It's safer than the world outside. I don't think you're as skeptical as you were before. This is a second chance at life. Not many people get that."

_This is a second chance at life. Not many people get that. _Little did she know I had had my second chance ripped out from under me, my entire world collapsing over me like a ton of bricks by a goddess. The goddess of marriage, whose cold, even breath chilled me even now, even as I looked into the broken eyes of Sam. Even as I knew that this was the last time I would see her. Even though I wanted to _badly _to stay with her, to flip Hera the middle finger and take the risk. At least I'd burn with them.

But no, I couldn't do that. I couldn't sentence them all to extinction out of petty selfishness. Camp Half-Blood deserved more than that, and whatever arguments about me deserving the same vanished in the wind years ago. I had become as bitter and angry and double-crossing as Luke had been, except I didn't have the same recourse he had taken, save for his heroic deed. Suicide. For me, it was be dishonorable; a coward's way. But it was better than living this shell of a life, blocking The Torturer's taunts and Hera's attempts at knocking me off the horse. It was better than knowing Sam was safe, but missing me. It was better than any of this.

The best thing - the thing I wanted to do for Sam - was stay here with her. She'd get everything; me and safety. But if that had been an option, we would have come here months ago. She wouldn't have to face any more heartache than she already had, but it was another part of growing up. She'd done this part, though, again and again, and it was cruel of Hera and The Fates to make her endure it once more. But there was nothing I could do. My hands were tied.

"I really do love you, Sam," I told her, sincerity filling my voice. "I love you so much there isn't room for me anymore."

I stood up, trying to ignore the quiver in my voice on the last part, and turned to the door. Annabeth's pleas were silenced by the door when it shut and I jogged down the steps of the Big House, making a beeline for the barrier, tears falling down my cheeks. I heard the door of the Big House getting wrenched open, sprinting footsteps behind me, trying to talk sense into me.

I started out jogging slow, with each stride taking two and a half feet. But it sped up until I was running faster than I had from the monsters after Sam and I. Faster than I'd run from The Torturer. Harder than I had from Olympus, newly banished, all those years ago. I ran until I was panting and had no energy left, barreling up Half-Blood Hill and past the barrier, reveling as it rippled around me and Peleus tried and failed to stop me. Into freedom.

Oh, and what a chained sort of freedom it was.

I looked heavenward as the rain pounded into my face anew, washing away my salty grief. I spread my arms, welcoming it, relishing in it. I laughed sardonically, marking this moment as the first of my insanity. Bookmarking it as the second when my futile attempts at thwarting The Torturer all failed in a big way.

I realized how painfully ironic it was that I had gotten the Apples of Hesperides for my antidote when I wouldn't live to see them in use.

Sighing, I opened my eyes and let them sting as the water hit them. This water was polluted worse than even the filthiest river, so it made sense why it hurt me so bad. I ran my fingers down my face, throwing off the droplets of water. And then I turned my attention forward, already moving toward the cluster of trees where I intended to put myself out of my misery.

Only to see Hera at the base of the hill, waiting for me with a threatening smile on her face.

**As those of you who have stuck with me since I started this little story will remember, I took a different road with this chapter than last time. I made it so Percy's "tough guy" routine was cracking from the beginning, giving everyone some suspicions. And, if you noticed; the Percy/Annabeth dynamic is a little stronger here, which plays in later. **

**For those of you who are new to this, that was probably a little alarming for you. Rest assured: It gets much worse.**

**I apologize for the gods-awful OOCness in this chapter. I wrote _so _many drafts of this and edited it _so _many times that eventually I had to just write it and post it. Nobody was acting right, and I want to justify it by saying the situation is extenuating and blah blah blah blah blah, but really, I couldn't write it. It got _super _angsty there toward the end, which I was trying to stay away from in this draft, but it happened anyway. I don't know _why _Annabeth and Nico wouldn't mesh in there. They _had _to be in the room - it was simple and plain as that - but they wouldn't _be _in the room. They were side characters throughout the chapter.**

**Gods, I promise an excellent read next chapter as soon as I write it. Cross my heart. But this one . . . and it's so pivotal to the story . . . GAH! I feel like a terrible writer right now! The next chapter is more important, really! It will be better if I have to drive myself crazy on three consecutive all-nighters instead of two. **

**Fun little tidbit about my life right now: I haven't slept over four hours on one night in over three weeks, and counting. It's currently one in the morning right now, and I still have to edit. I probably won't sleep then, either, getting started on the next chapter. Any insistence on your part to get me to sleep won't work; I have to wait until about two in the morning most nights (if I'm lucky) because I can skip REM and not dream.**

**Nobody in my house knows I do this. They will not, because hopefully I'll be over it soon.**

**Oh, and because I'm a bit of a poet and for some reason my brain is going into hyperdrive coming up with some weird piece of poetry for this, an extra piece. Read at your own risk.**

**_And as the hounds of Hell breathe down our necks,_  
**

**_whispering taunts that no one forgets,_**

**_it comes to a point when a choice must be made._**

**_Everything I love versus everything I saved._**

**_For I have bound you to my side by promises I can't keep_**

**_and thrown away the key instead of just letting you sleep._**

**_Your hatred seethes from your every pore, the reason of it love._**

**_But I must let you go, my sweet, the one I'll be dreaming of._**

**And to quote Harry Potter Puppet Pals: Angst, angst, angst, angst, angst, angst, angst.**

**Gods, I _loathe _this chapter.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Honestly, people on this site are cowards. If you have a complaint about my writing, you can bloody well _sign in _to voice it so I can either explain myself, thank you for pointing out a flaw, or tell you to back the Hades off my writing and get off my back, because I do _not _need your garbage.**

**And so help me, if I _ever _receive a profane review again, I will feed you through the wood chipper feet first and then burn what comes out the other end. There is _no _excuse for unprofessional critiques. _None. _I will not tolerate such juvenile behavior. I warn my readers that there is cursing in my story - some strong profanities at that - but they should not have to contend with that in the _Reviews. _Pick up a dictionary, you illiterate devolution of a Neanderthal. Oh, _I'm sorry, _was that too big for you? How about "moronic excuse for $4.27 American dollars of wasted chemicals"? Is that better?**

**I apologize to my reasonable and erudite readers for having to read the above ranting. I promise that it was a Moderated Review and you should not have to contend with the idiocy in the reviews section of my story. Please continue reading.**

**I am making a concerted effort through the use of flashbacks in this chapter to clarify whatever points remain unclear about Percy's adult past. Although not explicitly humorous, this chapter is less of a tear-jerker and better written, as promised. You shouldn't wind up bawling your eyes out. It's longer than some of the other chapters, but only by about a thousand words. I've been averaging between five-thousand and six lately.**

**As the Australians say (I don't know if they actually say this but someone told me they do): Evs.**

Chapter Nine: To Gamble With Lives and Sanity

**Hera's eyes blazed** white as she looked on the outside of Camp Half-Blood, indirectly staring at me.

When my feet started moving, they didn't stop. One second, I was barely a few feet from the crest of the hill, and the next I was barreling into Hera's localized water funnel, droplets coalescing into a wall of milky white rain. Hera's eyes still burned through the sheet, chilling my blood. I could feel the poison in my stomach, corroding my insides. I was still three days from critical, but it was already beginning to weaken me.

I didn't have the strength - I would never have the strength - to win in a fight with Hera. But as long as I was able, whether living or dead, I would protect Camp Half-Blood. "Please," I begged over the storm, hoping to appeal to the microscopic amount of humanity in Hera's wrinkled soul. "Let them live. Kill me. I haven't got anything left anyway."

"You disobeyed me," she boomed, voice monotone and unfeeling. It went through my like a spear, the curtain of water rippling with every syllable. "We had an agreement, and you broke it. The motion to raze Camp Half-Blood is passed. You may warn them of their demise."

"You can't!" I pleaded, slamming my fists into the wall around Hera. "Listen to me! What if something goes wrong again? What if you need them to fight one of your wars? You can't kill your own nieces and nephews and grandchildren!"

"Demigods are of no concern to me," Hera continued, raising her arms grandly. The storm picked up, a gust of wind knocking me off my feet as a branch whizzed past, narrowly missing the side of my head. "The punishment, as determined by the Council of the Gods on August the 18th, 2009, is the annihilation of all demigod life in Camp Half-Blood and the termination of the Jackson-Blofis household, including their adopted five-year-old Chelsie."

My shock at discovering my mother had adopted another child dissipated into the storm, more pressing matters retaining my notice. "You can't kill a little girl!" I thought of Sam, loathing for me festering in her as Annabeth and Nico walked her to dinner, consoling her and probably telling her I'd come back. I imagined her small, oval face, only younger, on my foster sister's. Tears welled in my eyes. "They don't deserve this! Please, Hera, whatever I did, kill _me_! I'm the person you're mad at!"

"Death is a mercy to you," Hera told me. "It is not suitable."

"Hand me back over to The Torturer!" I wailed. "Throw me in The Fields of Punishment! _Anything _but this! They don't deserve it, Hera." I couldn't see through the storm and my tears. My eyes stung from the extra salt. I scrambled to my feet only to drop to my knees before Hera, my voice fragile and cracked. "I will fight a million Titans and hold the sky for a decade if it means Camp Half-Blood lives."

I could see the light in Hera's eyes vanish. Her arms might have faltered inside her funnel, but I couldn't be sure. All at once, the storm broke, Hera's rage seemingly appeased. She stood before me as the funnel shrunk away and clear skies retook the heavens. Her dress lightened to white, and warm cocoa eyes focused on me. I was surprised to see them infused with emotion that wasn't anger.

"And what do you propose?" she asked, voice light and taunting. "I will hear you out."

I took a deep breath, pausing, and raked my brain for something. "I don't care," I admitted. "If it makes you happy, I'll do it. I didn't tell them who I was. I swear they don't know."

Hera narrowed her eyes and her lips pressed together in a thin, thoughtful line. She motioned for me to stand and, knees knocking, I obeyed, trembling as the adrenaline stayed in limbo, lying dormant in my blood but readied in case it was needed again. At least, that's what it felt like. "You swear to complete any task I give to you? No matter how life-threatening?"

"As long as I'm the only one in danger," I promised. "I don't care if it drives me insane or kills me or whatever it does. As long as Camp Half-Blood and the mortals and my family is safe, I will do it."

"Do you swear it on the Styx?" Hera challenged, eyes hard and inquiring.

I hesitated, biting my lip. "If you do the same."

Hera smirked and nodded, chuckling. "Say it first. And then we will talk."

Closing my eyes, I mustered up every scrap of courage I had. A million worse-case scenarios flashed across my mind, each of them gruesome and involving some sort of bovine involvement. "I swear on the Styx that I'll do whatever you ask _as long _as it doesn't hurt Camp Half-Blood, the mortal world, or my family."

"Very well," Hera confirmed. "And I swear on the Styx that if you complete my request, I will spare them all. Are we agreed?"

Thunder rumbled twice overhead, recognizing our treaty.

To my surprise, she thrust out her hand. Her nails were clear and perfect, no wrinkles on the skin or blemishes to the hide. Trepidation weighing me down, I took the offering and shook it, grasp firm and eyes locked with hers.

Hera nodded in approval. "My task is this: You will prove to me that you are capable of avoiding discovery in the years to follow today."

I frowned, already regretting my oath. "How am I supposed to do that?" I demanded, thinking _maybe I should have included "within reason" on my promise._

Hera's face turned cruel when she laughed, voice deep and rumbling into the valley. "Simple. You have already introduced yourself as Eric. All you must do is return under that name for exactly two months. If you have not revealed your identity by then, you may leave unhindered and to no consequence. But you _must _complete all of two months to do it."

I hadn't even realized Hera was advancing until I felt my feet moving up the hill as I leaned away from her intense gaze. I swallowed and shook my head. "I said nothing that endangers Camp!"

"The deed itself does not endanger them," Hera pointed out smugly. "It is failure that brings about their destruction." She sashayed forward, each step pushing me farther back. "Perhaps an incentive might do well for you," she reconsidered, eyes never leaving mine so the tone sounded fake. "If you succeed in this venture, not only will I spare Camp Half-Blood but the Council will rinse you and the Sam child of all demigod scent. You will possess none of your abilities, but monsters will never find you."

"What?" I blinked, flabbergasted. "Are you serious? You'd do that?"

"If this threat is strong enough . . ."

"No!" I cried, holding up my hands and leaning back farther. "No, thank you . . . Lady Hera."

She nodded contentedly. "Now go. I tire of your face."

And she shoved me down the hill.

~1~

I must have been knocked unconscious some time during my interminable roll through the grass of Half-Blood Hill. Unfortunately, that gave rise to unwanted memories.

_Emily Richardson, my girlfriend of three months and companion of four, swatted my arm playfully during a game of chess. It was some youth group or whatever, and we were seventeen years old, so they let us hang out in the corner. It was pretty posh, because there were showers and fresh clothes and everything, so her usual rumpled appearance was replaced with pretty dark hair knotted with silver chopsticks through it (a gift from one of the older chaperones) with a green blouse over her breasts._

_She moved her Bishop several spaces to the right, toppling my Queen and dropping her in the ever growing pile of deceased black chess pieces. "That's okay," she said encouragingly. "If you can get that one Pawn that's about to be trampled by my Knight to the other side of the board, you're golden!"_

_I groaned and ran my fingers through my hair, trying to look irritated but only managed to dissolve into laughter. "You're good at this," I complimented, squeezing her right hand. A small blush crept across her features, and she tried to laugh it off, but I squeezed tighter. "Seriously. You're way smarter than I ever _tried _to be."_

_A sheepish look overtook her face, a cute twitch of the eye preceding a warm smile. "Thank you, Percy. And it's your turn." _

_As I scowled at the board, trying to figure out how to save my Pawn from certain death, a thought dawned on me. "Hey, you ever realized how, when weird stuff happens, it always seems like you're losing chess?"_

_Emily rolled her eyes and patted my hand. "Whatever you say, Percy. Now make your move."_

_"I'm serious," I pressed, leaning forward. "Everything seems so _planned _in our lives, like everything's that's happened has some weird purpose. And, like, I can't figure out what you're doing or thinking or whatever when we're playing. It's sort of like that isn't it?"_

_Emily snorted. "Oh yeah, like the entire universe is just an almighty deity playing a game of chess." She glanced at my motionless hands and growled at me. "If you don't move that Rook of yours, I'll do it for you!"_

_Hastily, I advanced my stout castle a few spaces forward. But Emily buried her face her in her hands and killed it with her other horse without even looking. "You could have checked my king. It would have been the only advantage you've gotten over me_ ever._"_

_"I've got plenty of advantages," I leered, winking at her and leaning across the table to press a chaste kiss against her lips. "I am_ totally _in control of this relationship."_

_Emily snorted. "Percy, you're not in control of anything." There was something different about the way she was talking now - a slightly giddier undertone, almost maniacal. Her face was just . . . different. Not darkened, not more serious or more happy or anything. It just felt_ different _from how we usually jested with one another. "Honestly, I've held all the cards since we met."_

_"You would sort of be_ dead _if I hadn't bailed you out," I said seriously. "I'm not completely useless."_

_"No, you aren't," she admitted. But then everything went back to normal, as though slipping into a pair of familiar and worn down shoes after taking off the brand new ones that gave you blisters. "Seriously, I don't know anyone more gullible than you. I love you so much, Percy. Gods."_

_I smiled, chalking up the moments of weirdness to my own jittery, paranoid thoughts. Probably The Torturer messing with my brain again, anyway. "I love you too."_

_And then I checkmated her king._

_"And I _was _taught by a daughter of Athena," I told her flabbergasted expression, smirking at my Bishop, holding her King in thrall at the back of the board while my two Knights pinned him down. "You haven't beaten me yet."_

_It wouldn't be for several more months when I realized that the look of horror on her face wasn't because she had been beaten. _

_It was because I had bluffed past a daughter of Apacte and beaten her._

~2~

_"Do you take this woman to be your lawful wedded wife?" the pastor continued, holding a bible in his hands out of tradition. _

_"I do," I said confidently, almost leaning in to kiss my soon-to-be honorably spouse but waiting for her answer. _

_The Justice of the Peace smiled at the two of us, chuckling at our dirty appearances. "And do you take this man to be your lawful wedded husband? Despite the fact that our government is stupid and won't acknowledge you as married because you can't pay for the right?"_

_Emily beamed at him, glancing over at the female witness dabbing her eyes and sniffling. "Oh," she said, taking the sheet of paper for memoriam's sake from his desk and handing it to me. "I think I can manage that."_

_I convinced myself I had never been happier and I _wasn't _seeing a knowing-eyed blonde in front of me as I leaned over to sign an "X" and "John Smith" on the dotted line. But as I took the pen from beside it, I heard something that sounded distinctively like the scraping of metal against a leather sheath. I knew it well from years of training with old-fashioned weapons. _

_My suspicions were confirmed when I heard the female witness scream in terror. Before "Knife!" had finished leaving her mouth, I whirled around with my hand searching for Riptide. "Emily, do you - ?" I stopped dead when I saw my fiancee wielding the very knife I had seen her cut down monsters with like they were grass. _

_My turning around was all that saved me. The blade glanced off my stomach, tearing my shirt. Without thinking or understanding that the woman I had intended to devote my life to had just tried to kill me, I grabbed her hand and tore the blade out of her grasp, kicking her back with all my might. Only after she slammed into the wall did I compute: _Oh, I'm engaged to a homicidal murderess.

_I could _hear _Annabeth's screaming "That's redundant!" in my ear._

_"What are you doing?" I demanded, staring at the knife in my hand uncomprehendingly. "You-you just tried to kill me."_

_"You just answered your own question, genius," Emily growled, shoving off the wall with a cruel smile on her face. "and what was your first clue?"_

_"The knife," I said stupidly, shaking my head at her. "Why? Did I do something or - ?"_

_"How thickheaded are you?" she barked coldly, snickering at my naivete. "Think about _everything _that's happened to us. Don't you think it's perfectly convenient that the monsters attacking me a block from the Empire State Building were the same _empousa _you killed when you were fourteen? Or that you saved the life of the one demigod in existence with an _identical _goal to yours?"_

_"You were planning this from beginning?" I gaped at her. "But . . . why a year?"_

_Her face knitted into a look of disdain. "Because you are _the _most chivalrous man I have ever met. Most would have leapt into bed with five seconds after meeting me, but _no. _You had to be honorable and want to marry me first." Her smile returned. "No matter. Just FYI, 'cuz I like you - my real name is Anne McCartney."_

_A gun appeared in her hand, pulling from behind her back. I heard the Justice of the Peace blabbering on the phone for the police, but I didn't hear him, lunging forward as the pistol went off. It bounced off the Celestial bronze blade of Anne's knife and embedded in the wall as I slammed into my just-recently-ex-girlfriend and threw her onto the ground._

_"Why?" I roared. "I don't get it. Why me?"_

_"Because somebody paid me for it." The female witness must have taken the opportunity _then _to flee, because I heard the crashing of furniture and looked up to see her Prada heels clicking away quickly. Newly-christened Anne took advantage of my distraction and reversed the roles, straddling me. I called out, but she only smirked, running her eyes up and down my length. "You know, it really _is _a shame you never wanted to have sex. I get the feeling it would have been a fun ride." Her smile got bigger. "And I would have big a_ supreme _first time. And last."_

_She tried to steal the knife away from me, but I blasted her in the back of the head with a self-generated torrent of water and kicked her behind me, sending her crashing into the wall. "Ah!" I flipped her over after she crumpled, pinning her arms on either sides of her head. Once again, a leer overtook Anne's face and she chortled. "Really fun."_

_"You disgust me," I spat. It didn't feel right, saying that so straight-faced to the second love of my life. But with every second added to her betrayal, that love was shrinking into hatred and loathing unprecedented. I could hear sirens become audible in the distance, a tell-tale sign that the troops were coming. I didn't have time for jail._

_Rage burned inside of me and I growled at Anne. She had betrayed me and, even though I loved her, I had to insure my safety. I could feel the tears in my eyes when I said, "I trusted you."_

_All she did was continue to smile, trap my knife between her fingers, and lead it away from her throat. "Well, it's been fun, but I gotta run." And then she wiggled her hips and leveraged me off with her knee, sprinting away and out the door before I could say anything._

_"The fire escape," the Justice said. He emerged from where he had hidden under the desk as I turned around. He motioned outside and left, the opposite direction Anne went. "She's running right into the cops. They've got her now."_

_I thanked him, voice hollow, and apologized. "I wish - " _I wish this had never happened.

_He nodded. "For your sake, me too. Now run. And I hope that bitch burns for what she did."_

_I ran off then, those last words with the Justice leaving me to wonder if he was a demigod who understood what had passed between us or just a well-meaning, understanding mortal. I wrenched the window open and raced down the fire escape, the wind whipping at my face._

_I found out three days later that Anne had single-handedly won in a gunfight with the police, downing seven officers before slipping into the chaos of Las Vegas. She had yet to be apprehended._

_She really did have a good poker face._

~3~

_I sipped nectar, knees against my chest as I huddled up to the wall. Apollo gave me his blinding smile, but it kept faltering every time one of the residual effects of the poison hit - shivering bordering on convulsions, vomiting, and maddened screaming without any grasp on reality. The latter had been the most recent symptom, and Apollo had shown the decency to stay with me until I was recovered. _

_"You know, that offer to drive the chariot is still open," he prompted. "Might take your mind off things."_

_"You guys knew she was lying, didn't you?"_

_Apollo turned his eyes away in regret, shaking his head. "Your father was the one who told you who her mother was. Of course we knew." The smile didn't even try to make a comeback, another shred of decency from the sun god._

_"Why didn't you warn me?"_

_"We interfere in your life enough, Percy. And I doubt you would have believed even your father if he told you the woman you were enamored with planned to kill you."_

_I stared at the ground and said nothing._

_"Why did you attack Olympus last year?"_

_"I was mad," I muttered. "The Torturer was always screwing with my head, and . . . . I wasn't thinking like myself. I just got really angry and I did something really stupid. I don't even remember it very well." I set the nectar aside and pulled into myself further. "I'm surprised you didn't kill me."_

_"A lot of us thought it was smarter," Apollo admitted. "Most, actually. If you want my honesty, I voted to kill you, but that was mostly 'cuz you toppled my shrine." He tried for another one of his signature beaming smile only to receive a stoic grunt. The smile faded from his face a second later. "It was Hera and Athena that stopped the vote from going through."_

_"What?" Emotion came rushing back as I turned on him, shaking my head in disbelief. "The two gods that hate me the _most _stopped you guys from killing me?"_

_Apollo shrugged. "Beats me why. Athena did her usual spiel about it being unwise and counterproductive to the massive amounts of work we've done already and Hera started screaming about it - " He stopped abruptly and shot me an apologetic look. "Sorry. The stepmom forbid me."_

_I slipped back into detachment like it was a second skin. I actually tried not to, but it simply happened, my moment of liveliness receding hopelessly. "I don't even care anymore. I just want to die."_

_Apollo looked understanding. "Sometimes immortals think that, too. Getting fed-up with everything that goes on. But we can't fade on our own, and we don't die. I never thought mortals could feel that way."_

_I snorted bitterly. "Most mortals feel that way. You know your son Jessie, back at Camp Half-Blood? I caught him trying to commit suicide one time 'cuz he was homesick." Apollo's look of horror made me laugh. "Of course you didn't know. I talked him down, though. Made him talk to Chiron. Gave him a bunch of reasons why it wasn't worth it."_

_"Maybe you should take your own advice. What were the reasons?"_

_I smiled, my lip curling against its will so it felt weird, inhuman. I looked Apollo square in the eye, amusement twinkling in my green irises. "You have a family that would be devastated. People who love you. Friends who'd grieve. A life to live. You have to grow up and beat the odds, because living in the city is pretty cool, minus the monsters." I stared out the dilapidated window of my safe house, sighing at the irony. "You know, all of the things I don't have."_

_"You might get them back," Apollo blurted. There was a look of terror on his face, like he couldn't believe what he just said. His eyes flitted heavenward, but the skies were silent. No angry family members appeared._

_I rolled my eyes. "Thanks for the vote of impossible confidence, Apollo, but it's time to play in the real world." I slowly unfurled myself, feeling returning to each of my limbs one at a time. I played with my fingers and drew Riptide, going through the motions with it. Every slash and feint felt hollow, lifeless. Like a robot, just repeated a task programmed into it._

_"Perhaps," Apollo murmured. _

_I stopped, Riptide halfway through cleaving off the head of an imaginary _dracanae, _and turned to him. "Well, that didn't sound ominous." Apollo started smiling at me like it was nothing, but I made an "uh-uh" noise in my throat and he froze. "Come on, you're the god of prophecy. Is there a chance I can go back home?"_

_Apollo looked at me like I was a pitifully dying cockroach he didn't have the heart to squish. "You know I can't tell you one way or another, Percy."_

_"But is it the other?" I pressed, hope surging into my heart. _Maybe it isn't over, _I dared to think. _Maybe I'll get a chance to go home. It won't be the same, but I'll be home. That has to be worth it. Please tell me it's worth it. Please tell me there's a chance.

_Apollo was solemn as he walked over and clapped me on the back. "Even I don't know what road we're taking now, Percy. The Fates are the only ones who know what hand we have been dealt."_

_I closed my eyes and sagged, dropping Riptide as the leaden feeling seeped through me anew, any seed of faith crushed under the pressure of everything. Apollo supported me, helping me down against the wall. "Sleep," he ordered. "That's all you can do now."_

_I didn't have a choice, just like the rest of my life._

~4~

I came to with something tapping my cheek repeatedly, making muffled slapping sounds every time it did. I bristled, batting it away with a angry retort tearing past my lips before my eyes were even open. "I will cut your hand off and shove it down your throat."

"You do that, I'll cut your dick off and make you suck on the bloody side."

I snapped upright, narrowing missing the forehead of my scathing caretaker. However, after the stringy, short dark blonde hair of Clarisse la Rue came into focus, I considered that her courtesy of waking me up was just so she could see my eyes when she plunged her spear into my gut. She braced herself on her signature weapon, "Maimer," and smirked at me, eyes actually looking amused.

"You knocked your head hard on that rock up there," she told me, nodding toward Half-Blood Hill. Sure enough, there was a reasonable sized rock running up the line of flattened grass which I must have tumbled down. I frowned in confusion, holding the back of my head fighting to remember why I came back. Meanwhile, Clarisse was sizing me up, snorting gruffly. "You know anything about the Greek myths, punk?"

I rolled my eyes as Hera's threat reoccurred to me, struggling through my haze to think of a ready comeback. "Just that they're popular, nasty, and apparently real."

"Good." Clarisse surged to her feet, holding out her hand to help me up. Despite the pain radiating from every crevice of her body, I blew her off and rolled over, pushing myself upright. "Whatever. Dinner is in Mess. You can follow me. For future meetings, my name is Clarisse, your name is Punk. Got it?"

I rolled my shoulders back, cracking my neck and praying the throbbing headache blaring in my skull would ebb away eventually. I wasn't optimistic. "You call me 'punk' one more time, I'm going to stick that spear of yours up your ass. And just 'cuz I don't want to deal with your bullshit and I feel like I got fed feet-first through a wood chipper and survived. So march." I rubbed my temples, ignoring the grudging respect in Clarisse's eyes as she forged ahead, crossing the river with a hesitant glance over the side of the bridge.

I made certain not to get wet on the way.

~5~

My eyes remained focused on Clarisse's back the whole way; unlike most of the campers, she wore a white muscle shirt that made her look even more boyish from behind. She was female, but she hid it better than Annabeth in the baggiest clothes in the world with cropped hair. She simply _looked _more masculine, and that might have been a part of her fear factor - people were afraid she'd gotten a _little _too much testosterone in the womb.

Even though I had an overwhelming urge to investigate the new cabins - I caught sight of a rune-inscribed grey brick one with magical torches in the front with the number _15 _hanging above the door and pegged it as Hecate's without sparing it a second glance - I kept up a half-stride behind Clarisse, mindful of a straight defiant back. I hoped I showed some sort of confused independence if not exuded it. Pulling off the routine I knew I would have to play to a "T" would be the hardest thing of my life, and screw-ups were not admissible.

I donned my best poker face as Clarisse ambled between two Doric columns, leaving me in the dust and jogging over to a table filled with burly, scarred teenagers. A flag with Ares banner - red with crossed shields - flapped overhead. She sat alone at the end of the table, grabbing a plate from the middle. Instantly, a massive turkey leg appeared on it.

My eyes scanned the multitudes of heads before me. It was just at the tag end of the summer break, so camp was bursting with faces. Fourteen out of eighteen of the tables were populated - as was to be expected, the Zeus, Poseidon, and Hera tables were vacant. I was "dead," Thalia Grace, daughter of Zeus, was a member of the Hunt and therefore had little to no interaction with the co-ed demigod camp, and Hera was loyal to Zeus even if he wasn't to her. However, I was surprised when I saw the Dionysus one empty and a sinking feeling hit my gut. Castor had died during the Battle of the Labyrinth. Had his only brother perished as well?

But then my eyes found the black skull flag of Hades and I smirked. Pollux sat next to Nico, talking animatedly with the son of Hades like they were good friends. Nico, for his part, actually looked interested in the conversation, an occasional chuckle interrupting a bite of food.

Tables like Hermes and Apollo were packed with kids, to such an extent that they had been expanded to make room. That didn't stop the effective moss-pit of teens from trying to get the upper hand snag some food from someone's else plate. Hermes was the god of thieves, and what good was an endless feast if you couldn't steal some of it?

My eyes found Sam's lithe form, sulking alone at the end of the Hermes's table. She inhaled her plate of spaghetti - she'd never told me she liked it - but there was a hollow, depressed quality to her eyes. The others didn't seem to notice the brooding preteen, instead intent on rooting Travis on in a root-bear chugging context with a red-haired guy I couldn't figure for any table, although he lacked the elfish features of Hermes. When I realized he was around Sam's age, I figured his parent was holding out on claiming him until the deadline.

My heart threw itself into a vice and tightened it. _I _was the reason Sam was mad and reclusive. And if I stood half a chance of righting my wrongs, so help me, Olympus, I was going to.

I stormed over to that table and sat down across from her, determined to force a smile to her lips if I had to take her face and stretch the skin myself.

Sam barely looked up from her food, sighing. "I don't want - " When she saw me, her eyes widened until saucers would be jealous. She dropped her fork and her jaw, blinking uncomprehendingly.

I couldn't contain the grin at her expression. I reached across the table to ruffle dandruff into her food. It vanished to be replaced with a fresh plate. "Hiya, kiddo. Miss me?"

Sam was off that table and knocking me onto the ground before I could say anything more. "You came back!" she cried, drawing the attention of the entire camp. People stood, straining over their siblings to see what all the commotion was over.

A kid who looked so much like Travis they could be twins except for the incredibly fake mustache on his upper lip and slightly darker shade of brown hair walked over, looked me square in the eye, and said straight-faced, "Pedophile."

I almost killed him.

I nudged Sam and she scrambled to her feet, immediately plastering herself to my side. Connor - the kid who called me a pedophile - was smirking, holding out his hand. "So you're the guy who ditched? Annabeth told us." He grabbed my hand from my side to shake it, but I pulled it from it grasp. "Nice to know your more social than she said," he muttered, much to the amusement of some of his siblings.

We had long since attracted an audience from everyone else. Several tables were watching us in curiosity, others in trepidation, still more anxiously, like hoping I'd throw a punch. But the person who mattered in that half-second I was distracted was Chiron, who wheeled over to me from the podium at the very front of the Mess Hall. He was the only one sitting there, but there were four other unoccupied chairs.

"Welcome," he called. "Annabeth told us about your eventful arrival. I am sorry I wasn't able to greet you myself, but there was a wounded camper in the woods who needed immediate help and I didn't hear about it until you had already left." He put his brakes on and held out his hand, a warm, gracious smile hidden beneath his speckled beard and shaggy brown hair. "Sam here told us your name was Eric? Is that correct?"

"Sam's a hell of a lot more honest than I'll ever be," I growled, shooting her a look that was actually disguised pride as opposed to disdain. She hide a smile. "so, yeah, my name's Eric." Chiron's arched an eyebrow like he expected me to continue, but I snorted at him and rolled my eyes. "That's all you need to know. Now pay attention to something more interesting than some family reunion!"

Sheepishly, people returned to their dinners. Others stared at me unabashedly, but Chiron waved them on and turned back to me. "It is a pleasure having you here," he said amiably. "I hope you decide to stay, for Sam's sake as much as ours." He leaned forward and squeezed her shoulder, and I was secretly happy to see a warm smile spread across her face. "She's rather attached to you, you know."

"Why do you think I came back?" I snarled coldly, pulling her against my side protectively. "I wouldn't trust you half the distance I can throw you in that wheelchair."

"Understandable," Chiron told me diplomatically. Of course, I thought angrily, pissing off Chiron was some sort of miraculous accomplishment that deserved a plague and parade. The guy was _obnoxiously _understanding. "Please, if you would meet me in the Big House - where Sam and you were treated - I would like to initiate you. You must be confused."

"Understatement," I grumbled, officially ignoring whatever else he might have said. I said down next to Sam and shot Travis a cold look when he tried to socialize. The rest of the table got the message.

Chiron looked affronted, if a little hurt by my tactlessness, and I almost apologized. But I bit my tongue hard and Chiron made no sound as he mobilized his wheelchair again and returned to the podium, sitting alone.

I wondered where Mr. D - god of wine and grounded son of Zeus with alcoholism - was, but it didn't matter one whole heck of a lot. I might hate him only half as much as I did the rest of Olympus, but I had no doubt the loathing I'd nurtured for him in my childhood would make a fast comeback were I to see him for extended periods of time again.

While I chatted happily with Sam, I became sensitive to the stares I was receiving from all of the tables. Two rows in front of me to the far left, Athena's banner of an owl loomed. And the wisdom goddess's pride and joy was watching me, her grey eyes tumultuous with a million indecipherable thoughts. She was stealthy with her watching; she ate, referenced the blueprint next to her plate, and talked to her friends and siblings when conversation arose. But that laser-vision of hers bore into me, unshakable.

I was pleased to note the contempt festering within her eyes.

I turned around casually and flashed her a false smile - an obviously false smile - and she narrowed her eyes at me. I read the warning mouthed across tables clearly: _This is not a game you want to play. __  
_

I slapped a blank look on my face, completely devoid of emotion, and continued watching her. Annabeth didn't fume or snarl or anything of notable change. Actually, she nodded her head imperceptibly and returned to her meal, looking remorseful. Her body language exuded guilty reluctance; her hand was forced, I sensed.

Reading Annabeth that well had come from years questing beside her. Battling with a daughter of Athena required an eye for subtlety, one that had been refined into an almost telepathic connection before Hera sent me away. A connection that gave me hope that my romantic feelings were reciprocated when I was a kid and now gave me dread that my poker face was not as iron-tight as it should have been.

I trailed off in my conversation with Sam, staring at a splinter in the table. My world rotated around that splinter as I struggled to affirm myself in a plan, but I knew that my cleverness was only evident in imminent danger. I felt like the insignificant pawn five spaces from the end of the board with a bishop, two knights, and a castle in its way of promotion. I had a chance - a small, infinitesimal opportunity - to earn my keep. To take the hand I had been dealt and bluff my way to end of the round. If I could make my way to the end of the board, keep everyone occupied with other threats, _maybe _I could make it.

The grand prize was a life of ease with Samantha Fisher on my side, and I would cheat and bluff into the grave if that's what it took.

**Alright, so I have the official names of the sequels to _A Forgotten Fear _****up to the end of the second-to-last series. Things are too tentative with the last three to confirm names as of yet, but I know the series name.**

**So:**

**Series: The Scarred Hero**

**1) A Forgotten Fear (In-Progress)**

**2) The Fiery Fiends (In-Progress)**

**3) The Siren's Song**

**Series: The Warped Outcome**

**1) The Empty Sea (In-Progress)**

**2) The Empty Forge**

**3) The Empty Prophecy**

**The final series is called "The Voyage of Heroes". It is another trilogy, but nothing is absolutely certain yet. I know exactly where I'm going with the plot, believe me, but that one has another thought process entailed to it that I can't work with right now. I have to work on this.**

**I'm even blocked on my original novel.**


	10. Chapter 10

**I wanted to mention something I'd forgotten. A lot of the views expressed by Percy in the persona of Eric throughout these books do _not _resonate with me, and there are comments from other characters that I am equally if not more loath to write.**

**This is more a public message than anything else. People - at least in my corner of America - have grown complacent about the usage of "rape", "pedophilia" and other such grave and horrible words. A large number of people - not even just the stereotypical gangster "punks" but people who are otherwise civil and decent - are flinging those words around like it's all one great big joke. And to those of you who do it, do you have _any _idea what idea that plants in people's minds? That rape isn't a big deal. That having your innocence torn away from you isn't an actual crime, that no one cares about it, it's all a joke. You want to know why these rape cases go unreported? It's because of that.**

**So stop. Please, enough with the kidding remarks about "I'm going to rape you" with people when they tick you off in a game. I speak from a very small experience; I have received that threat for real, and there is probably nothing more frightening than the dread that you can't choose who is going to violate your body. I would die gruesome, malicious deaths a million times over if it meant I _never _had to hear that word leave someone's mouth in that tone again. It is _disgusting. _You are condoning an act of blasphemy against something made sacred by the unions of sexually reproducing animals for ages. Humans are one of the few creatures in the world capable of enjoying - or being agonized over - sex. **

**Don't demean that with untruthful threats, because you don't know who's hiding a sickening experience under your pillow. And if you know _anyone - _yourself or a friend - who has undergone that type of scarring trauma, _get help. _The filth of the Earth walk because of this new societal norm of complacency toward heinous crimes that, truthfully, deserve more grotesque punishments than The Constitution will allow. Stop it. Next time you think about saying something like that in a joking matter, _consider _what you're going to say. It isn't funny after your best friend starts crying because her boyfriend attacked her after the prom, and it shouldn't be before.**

**I'm sorry to rail at people who I'm sure wouldn't think of saying such things, but I felt like doing my part. I was on the bus today and saw a woman almost come unglued because of that type of statement from her friend. The next thing I knew, her and the friend were running off of the bus with her screaming, "You don't know anything about rape, you bastard!" and sprinting down the street away from him. I wanted to shoot the jerk, but the devastated look on his face indicated that he hadn't said it insensitively. He hadn't known it could be hurtful.**

**This has to stop. I'm going to post this exact same thing on my House of Hades story, Aftermath, and everything I write from here on out. It's also going on my profile. My advice would be to spread this; you'd be surprised what kind of waves a place like fanfiction can make in the community. **

Chapter Ten: The Taste of Death

**Eating normal food **felt wrong going down my throat. The last time I'd stuffed warm fried chicken past my lips had been . . . actually, I wasn't sure. All I was really sure about was the spicy fried skin of the meat with the succulent, juicy and all-around greasy breast finding every somewhat edible flap of skin and cartilage and yanking it away. I even broke open the bones and sucked the marrow out, more out of habit than anything else.

There was no civilized way to how Sam and I assaulted our meals. As I expected, Sam had been denying her appetite out of stubborn betrayal; the second I was back and sitting beside her, she eagerly helped a mouthful of mac and cheese into her mouth, looking happier than when I'd gotten her that ice cream cone.

It felt like so long ago. Barely seven days since we were content and prowling Staten Island, taking in the sights and not worrying about much of anything. Then that partner of Anne's showed up, Ares saved us, and a spiral of unfortunate events followed. What catalyzed it or sparked it I didn't know, but I did know that things had changed for me almost faster than they had on August 18th all those years ago.

I fought the memory down, refusing to acknowledge the tears I wailed at Hera as I pleaded with her for another way, for a scrap of mercy. But the Queen of the Gods had never been known to be relenting, and my sentence was passed by the Olympian Council. My fate was written in stone, and they wouldn't show me the damn thing so I could break it.

"Uh, dude?" someone said quietly. I looked up to see a black haired guy with a wide grin on his face and a velvet box on the table. "You're crushing your chicken."

Sure enough, the wing was crumpling in my grip, juice squirting onto an indignant Sam. I snapped out of my stupor and started picking the meat from it, shrugging like it didn't matter. My eyes kept flitting to the small box beside the man. If I didn't know better, I'd say it was a . . .

"Engagement ring," he confirmed. "It's my anniversary with my girlfriend today - six years - so I figured it was the best opportunity, you know?"

"No way," Connor called from the other table, rescuing a lasagna from one of his siblings. "You're _proposing_? Dude, Clarisse is gonna hang you from your balls and shock you with Lamer."

"Whatever," Clarisse's boyfriend shot back. "She's been dropping hints like nuts. I'm not as brain-dead as _you, _Travis."

Connor - who I now realized was Travis, oops - feigned injury, hand clapping over his heart like he was going to recite the Pledge of Allegiance. "You _dare? _Some brother you are, accusing me of spinelessness. And Minnie and I are taking it _slow._"

"Right," one of his sister's snorted. "Slow is sneaking into the woods after the campfire."

Travis turned the color of the campfire and sat down, picking at his food. The brother who had found me earlier walked over and draped an arm over his shoulder and squeezed. "Don't sweat it, bro. Promise you won't die a virgin."

The table erupted in laughter.

I cleared my throat, tapping my steak knife against the wood with a firm scowl on my face. "Keep it PG," I ordered, jerking my head at Sam. "or I find a reason to use my knife. Got it?"

"Yikes," Travis whistled. "_Loosen _up, man. The kid is gonna learn _way _worse while she's here, mark my words. She'll have a mouth like a sailor by the time she's - " Thrown with the unerring aim of someone trained in just about every medium of fighting there was, my steak knife pinned his sleeve to the table, quivering in the wood.

I had actually been aiming for the turkey leg in Connor's hands, but projectiles weren't my thing. The effect was the same, nonetheless. Color drained from Travis's face, and everyone in the near vicinity scooted away from me. Travis pulled the knife out with a perceptible gulp and nodded his head. "Uh, guys, new ground rule: We don't cuss around the shrimp."

Everyone nodded energetically.

Sam tossed her own knife down the table, and luck had it that it skittered up to Travis, although lacking the dramatic flair that came from embedding it in the wood. "It's Sam!" she corrected indignantly. "And next time, that's your eye!"

Travis looked unconvinced, but when he caught my self-assured wink, he started nodding again.

I was pleased to note the rest of dinner had gone on with very little chatter from my end of the Hermes's table. When Chiron banged his goblet on the table and announced that it was time to clean up and head to the campfire, the campers surged to their feet and raced for the center of the cabins, where even from here I could see the campfire burning.

I hung back with Sam, watching the throng and waited for it to thin before wandering after them, but then a strong and warm hand grabbed my shoulder. I fell backward, calling out. Sam lost her grip on my hand and looked horrified to see Chiron's friendly expression behind her. "Did you forget?" he asked politely. "I need to speak with you about Camp Half-Blood. To alert you to the rules and privileges allotted."

"Oh bother," I said sarcastically (which was actually the first thing that came to mind), snapping in mock disappointment. "And here I was thinking I could do whatever I wanted."

Chiron's eyes didn't even narrow. He turned to Sam, beaming. "If you would catch up Cabin eleven. I hope Nico or Annabeth has already debriefed you, but I prefer to speak with campers alone."

Sam looked reluctant, glancing at me uncertainly. It took a lot of courage for me to nod her on ahead.

"I'll see you in a bit," she muttered frightfully, looking apprehensive about leaving. She backed away slowly before turning into a dead run and being absorbed into the sluggish crowd of demigods. They welcomed her graciously.

I turned back to Chiron and crossed my arms. "Alright, what is it? And be quick, I don't like standing around."

Chiron's smile faded slightly. "We need to speak in the Big House," he reminded me. "It is best there."

He started wheeling to the blue house in the distance, but I remained rooted to the spot, frowning at his wheelchair. I realized I hadn't made a snide remark about that yet and quickly remedied it. "Really? An invalid is running this place? No matter it's such a zoo."

Chiron stopped, his wheelchair rolling down the slight incline until he locked it in place. He twisted around, a knowing smile on his face. "Child, this is not out of necessity. It is out courtesy."

I arched an eyebrow. "Sorry. Am I supposed to be scared by the fact you have atrophied legs?"

Chiron's eyes turned cold, hard, and angry as he pushed himself to his feet, slender white horse legs emerging from their Misted sheath. Within seconds, a tall, regal snow white centaur towered above me, staring at me with aged and smug eyes. "No."

I gave a step. Never before had I seen the seeds of contempt burn in his eyes, but as he turned to me, his gaze was smoldering. I wasn't sure _what _I had done to incur his wrath, but I couldn't decide whether it was a good or bad thing yet. With a deep, centering breath, I said, "Well, that explains it." My attempted sneer didn't come out surprised, like Chiron might have expected, or unconcerned, like I would have liked. It hit something of a factual medium, like I was stating the weather.

Chiron frowned. "You receive revelations better than most, especially considering your so-called aversion to it when you first arrived."

_When I first arrived my mother was dead and I just killed a massive bull in undies. _I shrugged, secretly wishing I could do Ares cleaning-under-the-nails-with-a-knife thing, but I figured that would be overkill. At least for a while - maybe I could start looking competent with weapons after the second week? No, no, that wouldn't do; if I started looking at my best within two weeks of arriving, people would start asking where I really had learned my moves. Claiming raw talent would raise eyebrows, but people might start leaning toward Ares as my godly parent. As loath as I was to call him my father, he was a far cry from Poseidon and nowhere close to a decent clue to my identity. Maybe I needed to try for just that.

"Eric?"

I snapped out of my daze, almost exclaiming "Crap!" because my ADHD had taken me into the planning stage of my deceit while I was still in the preliminaries. I had to bluff past Chiron if I even wanted to stay in the game a few more turns. I forced myself not to stutter - despite the twisting in the gut when I stopped "uh . . ." from escaping my lips - and rolled my eyes instead, stalling. "Trying to figure out what's with the overblown archaic stuff running around here. It's like you took the Middle Ages and the modern world and smashed them together."

It wasn't the best cover-up, but it was something. Sadly, Chiron caught the easily distracted quality of my eyes and noted, "You have ADHD, don't you?"

"What?" I demanded, bristling. Then I realized it was _defensive _bristling. Gods, around Chiron I couldn't do anything right! "I actually have a pretty good attention span. And what about that house, huh?"

Chiron looked disbelieving, but he relented and trotted toward the river, calling "Follow me" behind him. Not having anything else to do, I cast one wishful look over my shoulder to the sea - it still called to me, albeit a faint whisper - and trailed behind him, mind reeling with half-complete thoughts for plans.

Dumbly, I wondered what Annabeth would do.

~1~

Chiron's girth took up the entire front porch of the Big House for a solid minute before he opened the door and ducked inside. Trying my best to appear disinterested in this entire encounter, I slunk in behind him and tried to maneuver around his large white haunches, only to get the wind knocked out of me when he turned abruptly.

Chiron swung away, managing to narrowly avoid the lamp. "Oh dear," he began with sincere remorse. "I hadn't seen you. I'm sorry."

Black dots overtook my vision for a few seconds and I shook off the daze, stumbling over to the Ping-Pong table in the corner. My staggering wasn't graceful or sleuth, and I wound up leaning against an unsteady chair that almost threw me onto the ground. I caught myself on the table lip as it crashed into another seat, which tittered for a moment before balancing out. A small rune was etched on the back of it and I figured it belonged to the counselor of Hecate.

Once I had enough oxygen in my lungs to fuel my brain again, I gave the lobby - because that was exactly what it was - of the Big House a onceover. In front of me was a unimpressive kitchen with a mini-fridge, a microwave, and a box of popcorn and six-pack of Coca-Cola sitting on the counter by the sink. To my left were the beds Sam and I had laid in when we first arrived; one of them was bloodstained with like-colored cloths and sheets heaped on the bedside table. Just beyond the beds was a clear cabinet which I suspected contained some mortal and divine medicines. There were herbal mixed in for good measure and baggies of ambrosia. A large sealed pitcher of nectar was pushed off to the side.

Behind me was an even more interesting sight. One that entailed a beer-bellied and speechless god with his pinochle cards strewn across the table like he'd dropped them. His black hair caught purple in the fluorescent lighting, wide blue eyes bloodshot as they focused on me. His lips were parted in shock, a can of Coke hovering inches over the ground by his magic.

I gave him a half-smile, relishing in his wordless shock as I turned around and leaned on the table, arching an eyebrow. "Can I help you?" I mocked.

Dionysus - nicknamed Mr. D by the campers - blinked out of his daze and snorted. But the sound came out false and longer than usual; less dismissive, more uncertain. "Wonderful," he groaned sarcastically, scooping up his soda can and setting it on the table as he waved his hands over the fallen cards. They returned to his grasp obediently. "Yet another delinquent to add to our collection. Chiron, are you going to play or not?"

The centaur walked (horse-style) over to a closet and pulled out a folded up wheelchair from the assortment of about four others. He opened it up and sat down in it, wheeling over to the card table across from Mr. D. His hand slapped down on the deck of cards as his opponent attempted to get another one. "I don't trust you," he said pleasantly. "Put them back. Don't shuffle until I'm done speaking with Eric."

"Enrico can wait," Mr. D grumbled, doing as he was told. He tapped the now complete deck of pinochle cards impatiently, glowering at Chiron. But his eyes flitted over to me every now and again, as though questioning my presence. I hoped he'd figure the situation out before it became overly dire.

"Actually," I interrupted, pushing off the table with ease. "I don't feel like getting in the middle of your little game. So I'm going to go n - " I turned around and faced a calendar squarely. A calendar with all the dates up to the seventh of August crossed off with large, thick and red X's.

My heart thumped hard against my chest, expectant terror filling me. I'd miscounted my days, I realized. It had been _four _on the road, not five. How I missed it, I wasn't sure, but taking care of Sam took up so much of my mind that I sometimes missed a day she had to remind me of. It wasn't overly surprising that I missed a day, that I had planned for this brush with death _tomorrow. _And, unfortunately, I could feel the boil within my body intensifying, catalyzed by my acknowledgment of the mortal danger I was now in.

Heart pounding too quickly to keep the poison from spreading faster than normal, I tripped on a chair leg and staggered for the door. Only to have my way blocked by Chiron's hand, flat on the solid oak. "Eric, it is imperative I speak with you right now." His eyes twinkling with knowingness, but apparently it wasn't enough.

"And it's imperative I go right now," I strangled back on him, voice laced with pain and panic and all-over discomfort. My hand shook like the San Franciscan fault as I reached for the handle, but once again Chiron's carefully calloused and barely wrinkled hand stopped me, this time examining the tremor in my arm.

He nodded. "Ah, I see." He sounded so calm and certain that my eyebrows drew together; how could he know what I was suffering from if I was the first to be afflicted with it? "If you would follow me, you're merely suffering by the delayed affects of your shock from earlier. Annabeth assured me you were rather unresponsive when you crossed the barrier."

Shock? Oh shit. Yeah, that made sense, except for the fact I knew what was really going on. Unfortunately, Mr. D - the only guy for several untold miles who could help me - bought Chiron's explanation and still tapped his finger on the deck, glowering at his partner. Chiron ignored him, and eventually he entertained himself with making the cards dance for him.

I had to get his attention. However much he might hate me, he wouldn't risk Poseidon's wrath by letting me die. "Yeah, whatever. I can help myself," I dismissed Chiron, voice a little louder and clearer than usual. It echoed through my skull like it was hollow. I lurched forward, intending to turn around to the door. "Besides, this is not my day."

Chiron caught me before I fell, but the cards Mr. D bewitched fell to the desk. He stared at me uncertainly, apparently too stupid to understand that those words had been deliberate. "Eric," Chiron warned. "Fighting at the moment is not healthy for you. If you'll only . . ."

"Buzz off, Horse Fur," I shot back, tearing out of his arms and aiming my flailing body toward the card table. Small paper rectangles flew everywhere and Mr. D's soda splashed on my face. I rubbed - gently, because pain was now emanating from that spot - the scar on my face, struggling keep my breath at some semblance of steady.

My heart pumped harder, struggling against the sedative poured into my veins. The loud drumbeat in my ears receded, leaving only the roar of the ocean behind. Every now and again, I heard it, but it was soft and infrequent.

My vision started to blur, shades running together like mixing watercolor. The world was awash with red and black, and even those colors were faint, fading away into pure, startling white.

My lungs worked too hard to supply oxygen, willed consciously by my mind. Breathe, it commanded. Keep the air moving or you'll suffocate. Breathe. But the poison fooled my organs into relaxation, false hormones or something filling my body with all the wrong signals. My fingers tingled with false sensations - burning, ice, pain, pinpricks - and I wondered if the motor nerves telling me that I had tripped and hit my knees. They told me I was trembling, throat stinging and raw with a scream.

My ears registered no such cry. All there was was the rushing of the ocean; it wasn't reassuring like it should have been. There might have been other noises between the roaring, but I understood none of it. Something suspiciously like language, pleading in the tone of a concerned father.

My senses told me I was on my back, limp and cold as the poison spread. Fainted, something told me. My head throbbed. My heart pounded too quickly; it needed to slow down so the poison wouldn't spread too fast.

And that's when my vision cleared.

Pale skin with the winding network or inked veins rippled into focus, stark against the thick black backdrop. Something thick and foul invaded my mouth and I choked, sinking deeper into . . . sludge. Panic struck me like a sledgehammer, mind-numbing and intense as I threw my hands up and struggled to tread the gelatinous fluid, but I didn't have the freedom of motion and everything twitch of my finger sunk me a little further.

The Torturer's perfect white teeth appeared from his thin, dark lips; a twisted smile that inspired fear in the most courageous man and turned their will to rubber. "You will only continue to drown," he told me. "At least until you accept my help."

I shook my head, but more of the gel found its way into my mouth and I shut up, going limp in a vain effort to stay afloat. No such luck; my natural body weight had me sliding through the sludge faster than before.

A skeletal white hand hovered above the sludge as The Torturer's face unfocused. I wanted to bat it aside, but I knew if I touched him he would drag me up. "This is all a part of Tartarus," he informed me jovially, like we were kindergarten friends and he was showing off what he learned the day before. "You will drown perpetually in there until you take my hand. I recommend acting quickly; you'll be in too deep pretty soon."

Sure enough, the crown of my head bobbed below, but I managed to use the coagulated mud to leverage myself over the surface. I considered my options; drown forever or suffer forever. Feel nothing in a world of thick black or feel agony in a white of changing temperatures and colors. Live senselessly or live and feel.

I reached for The Torturer's hand.

When I grasped it, it was colder than Antarctica and hotter than the Sahara Desert. It was chilled with the terror of a million men and warmed with the blood from their estranged deaths. It promised agony and madness and sensations galore. It promised a wretch of a life, hollowed out and slumped against the wall with a guffawing tormentor - at least until he tired of your screams and found a new favorite pet, leaving you to wail incoherently against the wall of your cell, only occasionally knowing life when he dropped by to check on you one millennium later while making his rounds. It promised the certainty of expiration; the infallible oath that all things will end, no matter how good or bad. That even eternity cannot torture you forever. That when insanity has invaded the porous walls of you ailing mind, you will cease to care for the frivolities of painlessness and paradisaical fantasies of mortal life and content yourself with the stability of anguish. The dependability of a monster to plague your purest thoughts with bloodshed and strife. The imbalance of clinging to that primal urge of fear and letting it shape you, define you in words and pictures and outcomes you never thought possible.

He begun pulling me from the depth, a cruel smirk of victory stretching across that horrid face. The sludge was cold against my lips, solid and concentrated as though a vile were pressed to them. It continued to invade my mouth and I tried to spit out its foulness, but for some reason I couldn't. The Torturer had almost dragged me to the earth - black and cracked like a desert floor - when I was forced to swallow a bit of the gunk.

Instantly, I realized it wasn't gunk at all. The antidote washed down my throat, offering a third option to my ultimatum. Rage flashed across The Ancient Fear's face as I laughed in triumph, letting myself sink into the sludge.

~2~

One of the worst things in the world is coming to with more than one person breathing on your face.

Hot, sticky breath coated my lips and I called out in protest, at first a string of meaningless, thoughtless insults that sounded like letters but had no connected definition. After a few embarrassing minutes of that, I broke past the language barrier and starting cursing at Chiron in English and Ancient Greek, too delirious from almost dying to realize the folly in that.

After the centaur and the grounded god had given me enough space, I pushed myself upright and held my head, contending with the ice-prick headache slicing my skull in half. Wincing, I turned to the wheelchair bound caretaker, scowling. "Well, that was humiliating and doesn't leave this room." I staggered sloppily to my feet, bracing myself on the nearby Ping-Pong table and ignoring the nacho cheese on my hand from touching the old snack. "I think I'm going to leave now."

"Eric," Chiron called. "Does that happen often?"

"Me randomly swooning for no apparent reason? No, no, I say that's new." I grasped the doorknob, intent on turning it, when the centuries-old teacher hollered again.

"Perhaps it was shock. Sleep might do you well."

I tensed, thinking of the nightmares that always plagued my post-poison slumber. Looked like it was another all-nighter for me. "Whatever."

I swung the door open and jogged to the campfire, where the flames were roaring high and the singing of a hundred off-key demigods echoed all the way to the Big House. A reminiscent smile threatened to tear past my mask of impassiveness and I fixed the facade in place, gulping back the residual terror. My hands shook and my body was partially numb from a halfway succeeded paralysis. Much longer and I would have gone into epileptic shock.

I slipped between the Apollo and Athena benches, catching the eye of Annabeth as I passed and looking away immediately. I spotted Sam on the other side of the fire and made my way over to her, the chorus of a campfire song that I had long forgotten filling my ears.

I resisted the urge to hang onto her and not let go. Instead, I accepted the seat offered to me by Travis wordlessly and draped an arm over her protectively, patting her shoulder because the shaking wasn't going away and I needed something else to concentrate on. I almost joined in on the singing, having learned the lyrics already, but decided against it, opting for the unsociable demeanor over quieting my churning nerves.

The campers stopped singing and rose of their own volition as one, although what had prompted the rising tide I wasn't sure. Forced to stand with them, I tugged Sam on her feet and cast my eyes about fearfully. I felt like a mouse with an eagle circling overhead.

"C'mon," Travis said, nudging me in the side and jerking his head behind us, to the plain brown cabin with a caduceus over the door. "You're bunking with us 'til you're claimed." Then he raised his voice to address all of his siblings. "Right then, guys. Back to bed. Lights out in five."

A collective rose from the assembled teens and they shuffled after Connor as he led them through the door.

Sam took my hand firmly and looked up in fear. "We're sleeping here," she breathed, swallowing. "What if they . . . you know." She moved a finger across her throat and cast a frightened look after Cabin eleven, which was receding into their place of refuge.

Confident they couldn't hear, I crouched down and answered, "They wouldn't think of it, seriously. Just because I can't stay doesn't make them bad people. You know that, right?"

Sam nodded. "That reminds me. Why did you come back?" She immediately amended herself. "Not that I want you to leave, but I won't stop you if you do. I just want to go with you."

I canvassed the area with my eyes. Although we were attracting curious looks, no one was close enough to hear a stage whisper, let alone a real one. Pursing my lips, I considered my options and decided seeing the wide-eyed happiness on Sam's face was worth it, even for a moment. "You still want to move to Canada?"

As expected, her eyes opened into the size of golf balls and she gripped my shoulders excitedly. "Are you serious? Are we going now? Because I don't have anything and - "

"Not now." I brushed some hair from her eye reflexively. "In about two months. According to Hera, if I can pull that off, she'll wipe us both of the scent."

I had never seen Sam so bright and lively than in that moment. She threw her arms over my shoulders and squeezed me so tight I found it hard to breathe (and my lungs hurt from post-poison trauma, but I was used to it). That in and of itself reaffirmed my determination to succeed.

I stood and motioned that Sam go in first. A treacherous smile was wide on my face as I shot a prideful look at Hera's cabin and sauntered after her.

**Sorry for the terrible wait. I broke my writer's block on my original writing and spent a while on that, plus I had a final to study for. So, yeah . . . I was lucky to get it out this soon.**

**I'm going on hiatus. Sorry guys, but all of my stories are on-hold. In a week, I restart school-school, and I simply won't have time to work on fanfiction on my original writing at the same time. So until I finish my novel up to chapter fifteen (which could take anywhere from until next summer or around January next year) all of these stories are officially halted. I deliberately left this at a wrap-up sort of ending so you guys aren't stressing over what happens next. Nonetheless, I would appreciate reviews, and I will respond to them promptly. No spoilers will be given. Sorry.**

**This is thein273, signing off. Happy Halloween, Merry Christmas/Happy Quanza/Honukka/whatever you happen to celebrate or Chinese Food and a Movie Day, Happy New Year, and all the other holidays I can't think of right now that I won't be around to wish you. **

**再见. (Zaijian, goodbye)**


	11. Chapter 11

**So this is an annoyingly long and drawn-out chapter. It's not poorly written, but I wish I had a better moment to kickstart the story again. This is one of those intermission chapters that you can sleep through and still not miss anything of the plot, but I would appreciate if you read it anyway. There are deliberate hints sprinkled generously in here, something I labored over into the late hours of the night.**

**(To be fair, those "late hours of the night" are byproducts of procrastination, a poorly taught Chemistry course, and my own masochistic insomnia.)**

**The hiatus wasn't as long as I expected, but I'm in a not-so-fun place right now, and this was the only thing I could write. If I'm not making headway on my novel anyway, I can't see the point in delaying your reading it, so here you are. The rest of the Author's Note is me promoting other stories and droning on about how I hate modern cable, so skipping it would be an acceptable alternative to reading it. I'd like to hear your opinions on the stories, however, so I know whether I want to post them. **

**Brief warning: Those of you who are not big fans of psychology and history (and their various points of inter-connectivity) might have your eyes glaze over toward the middle of this chapter. I had a monologue I was dying to give a character, and it fit so fluidly in with the argument that I had to. Conversely, if any of you are history and/or psychology buffs like me, only you have formal instruction rather than a rag-tag skirting understanding from _Discovery _and _Science Channel _as well as a smattering of books and overly vague history classes with assumed conclusions about the human psyche only partially supported by proven information, do not hesitate to rail at me for my inaccuracy in your reviews. God knows I will rush to remedy my mistakes, believe me. **

**These are a bunch of ideas that float in my head and occasionally on paper. If you'd tell me what you think, I'd greatly appreciate it.**

**_On a Chessboard: _Gaea's worsening taunts drive Annabeth toward the brinks of insanity while she waits for her boyfriend to awake from his three-week coma, and to cope, Annabeth seeks solace in outsmarting Gaea using a game as old as the empire of Islam. (Warning: M)**

**_Across the Line_: A very long song-fic to _Across the Line _by Linkin Park. If you've ever heard the song, you can predict how dark it is. In the aftermath of losing the war with Mother Earth, six of the Seven are secluded and imprisoned, slowly driven mad by various tortures devised by Gaea. Over a year after the world has been turned into a wasteland and the human race almost eradicated, there seems to be no hope for the surviving demigods . . . until their ever-brilliant strategist concocts a plan to escape and bring down Mother Nature once and for all. (Warning: M. Stands high chance of being expanded into a multi-chaptered story, but it won't be a long one. Will contain major character death. I would not be surprised if it was a little triggering for some individuals.)**

_**Scrawny Really IS the New Sizzling Hot: **_**Leo blamed Annabeth for dragging him and his couple friends, Jason and Piper, into _Barnes and Noble _after a monster attack. And he kind of blames himself for not following Percy's example and running to the sub place across the street. But when, while perusing the YA section, he overhears a couple of squealing girls panicking over _The Mark of Athena_, and explicitly hears his name being used in a dreamy tone of voice, he tries his Leo-charm on the susceptible teenagers. **

**And discovers he is a highly sought-for fictional character from a fantasy book. Because he's awesome that way. (Warning: Overdosed crack!fic. Terribly, terribly OOC and atrocious. Really, only read if you have a secret desire to emulate Oedipus.)**

_**A Forced Hand: **_**After his hand is forced against a mortal, Percy Jackson is accused of second-degree murder and must prove to the jury, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he acted out of necessity. But how can he prove that to New York when he can't even prove it to himself?**

**_Half-Blood Quips_: Humorous ideas adhering as much to the canon storyline as possible. A lot will be one-shots, others are brief little anecdotes or diary entries or something of the like. Those of you who read _No More Death _before it was taken down know what I'm talking about.**

**I'm also toying with the idea of doing a Historical AU, but I'm not sure if I want to or even have a decent idea for it. The only plot concept I have is for the Wild West, but gunslingers aren't my cup of tea. Ancient Greece would be hard to work with unless I dabble in the untouched realm of The Plague of Athens, but that would never end well. Mythological wars could work, too, but I'm not a big fan of Troy. I guess I could mess with the Peloponnesian Wars. Do you guys have any ideas?**

**Oh, and I'm now thoroughly in love with The Lion King. It's sort of unhealthy how much I'm listening to that music, but it's _so good._**

Chapter Eleven: Ill-Tempered Maids Pick a Fight

**Nightmares plagued my** rest, as expected; I couldn't steal five seconds of shuteye before a strangled scream tore past my lips and I bolted upright in a cold sweat. Eventually, despite the weariness that clung to my every pore, I gave up and leapt down from my place on the top bunk, determined to gather my wits by the lake or something.

I glanced at Sam, who was nestled sweetly in her blankets and hugging her pillow to her head. With her dark hair wild about her face and a peaceful expression infused on her unwrinkled, unmarred features, she might have been a daughter of Hebe. That unique innocence shined through her even after everything she had experienced, and my chest swelled when I realized the risk I was taking. Sam's life was hanging in the balance alongside everyone else's, once again dangling because of my own selfishness.

I crouched down and brushed a frayed strand of hair from her eye, pressing a kiss against her forehead. Sam made a small noise like a cat's purr in the bottom of her throat and I chuckled, pulling away. I watched her sleep for another few seconds, feeling more like an overprotective father than a stalker, and rubbed my neck.

Hera's threats weren't going to dissuade me from keeping Sam happy and safe. Of that much, I was certain.

Back when I was twelve, sneaking out of Cabin Eleven would have been impossible; the tile flooring was invisible beneath the plethora of demigods. Now, however, many of the unclaimed had found homes in other cabins, and those handful of overflowing teenagers were slumbering in the back on futons. There was a wide open space for me to tiptoe through, and the door didn't so much as creak on my way out. Latching it behind me, I breathed in the sea-tainted breeze, relishing the sensation of it on my nose hairs.

The streets left little time for smelling the roses, and that vacation-like time on Montauk Beach with Sam felt like centuries ago. It was difficult to believe that, in less than twenty-four hours, I had outrun a horde of monsters only to be hunted down, fight the small battalion alone, almost lose Sam, find Camp Half-Blood, get blackmailed into staying at Camp Half-Blood, and forge a contemptuous relationship with every demigod I'd come into contact with. Then again, I had accomplished more in less time before.

I debated obeying the call of the sea. It was insanely tempting to let my feet pound against the solid earth before diving into the Sound, headfirst, but my better judgment warned against it. My persona was fragile at best, and a single misstep could mean the dominoes came tumbling down. If someone spotted me - unlikely, but not impossible - taking the elation I was bound to from my time in the ocean, I'd be screwed. Especially if it was somebody like Annabeth or Nico.

The likelihood of discovery was too high, I decided with a deflating sigh. I'd stay to the outskirts of society and away from the border of my father's kingdom.

My feet dragged along the ground as I made my way to the woods, passing the Arena as I went. I hadn't planned to pay it any mind, rather intent on reaching my secluded destination among the tress, but then I heard the distinctive sound of a knife through canvas and female grunting.

I stopped short, again weighing my options; investigate the curfew-breaker or continue on my merry way and pretend I had heard nothing. But ADHD was a resilient thing, and thus I diverted from the beaten path and strolled under the frieze depicting Jason and the Argonauts, palm resting against the milky white pillar as I watched the wild-haired daughter of Athena weave among her adversaries with all the grace and precision of a cheetah.

Her ponytail had long come unraveled, and now her curls danced about her face as her feet danced about the straw dummies, many of which were already eviscerated on the ground. Wooden spooks were overturned, hidden by heaps of grass. Annabeth tripped over one, but she exploited her fleeting moment of weakness to tumble away from a clearly-imagined spearhead. She came to her feet in a cat's crouch, blade upside down and horizontal. A heartbeat of a pause, and she lunged forward, slicing the dummy cleanly across the throat, whirling around and sinking her blade into the sternum of its buddy. Her controlled pants reached my ears by the entrance, and she spun out of the underhanded attack, bringing up her knife to block and following down the make-believe arm into the collarbone of yet another defenseless foe. A series of rapid kicks and punches interrupted the intimidating display of knife-skill - a perfectly balanced roundhouse into a mind-numbing leaping lunge, the blurring of her fists, and a strong finishing elbow to the throat. She brought her battered foe to the ground, dragging her knife across his artery, and concluded with an expertly-aimed throw at the final dummy's soft spot, right between the eyes.

The knife embedded so deep it didn't even quiver.

Annabeth stood, rolling her shoulders back and wiping her sweat-drenched curls from her face. The milky moonlight illuminated her crimson cheeks and stained forehead, reddened by the rigorous physical exercise. From a distance, she looked clammy and delicate as she plucked her knife from the inanimate enemy, shaking her head. She staggered a bit, leaning against a dummy-less poll for support.

"You don't have to stand there gawking," she said suddenly, scaring me half to death. Her dampened hair hung over her face when she peered up at me, a faint smile playing on her lips. "I won't bite."

I considered blowing her off and walking away, but my feet carried me toward the center of the Arena against my will. When I came to a stop in front of her, it was a struggle pulling off arrogant nonchalance; Annabeth at her worst had always been one of the strongest reminders of how beautiful I found her. "You're not bad with that knife," I said in forced easiness, trying to make it sound like an observation rather than a compliment.

Annabeth's dissecting stare thoroughly undermined my confidence. "Thank you," she said sincerely. "Have you ever fought before?"

I laughed sardonically and crossed my arms, kicking a straw pile into the still air. "Dabbled here and there," I began sarcastically. "Y'know, just about every other week, because the streets are _such _a safe environment."

Annabeth pursed her lips together and glanced away sharply as though I'd struck her. "I'd forgotten," she said contritely. "I meant, have you ever worked with a blade or a bow or something to that effect?"

I debated a million answers in less than a second before shrugging. "Although I'm sure the weapons of choice for the Knights of the Round Table are perfectly suitable weapons, I really didn't have the time or patience to train with them. Sorry," I added derisively. Uncrossing my arms, I stepped over a dummy and studied the carnage appreciatively. "Am I going to have to?"

I didn't see her nod her head, but it was the predictable response. "Celestial bronze is difficult to manufacture, so we tend to fight with more reusable things than bullets. Even arrows are expensive, but those can be found and recycled. Otherwise, we're partial to swords, spears, and daggers." She held up her own knife as an example, and I noted with a twang of reminiscent pain that it was the same one Luke had given to her when she was seven.

The same knife that had killed Luke Castellan and bathed the tile of Olympus red.

"Seriously?" I snorted, shooting her a dubious look over my shoulder. I nudged a partially dismembered dummy over so I could see the black Xes drawn in the place of eyes. "And what's 'Celestial bronze?'"

"One of the few metals we know about that can kill monsters." Several pieces of straw snapped under her weight as she pushed off her poll and navigated her way over to me. I felt her body heat radiating against me and my breath caught, but I bit my tongue and stared straight ahead to keep from showing it. "Actually, one of two. The only other means is Stygian iron."

"Monsters," I echoed disbelievingly. "I love how you people act like that's perfectly normal. _Monsters._"

"It's difficult to believe at first," Annabeth said distinctly. "but after a while, it starts to be the only logical explanation. Eric, think about it: What kind of things have you and Sam seen? What kind of inexplicable things have gone after you? I'd guess you've been on the streets _at least _most of your adult life - what? Three to five years? - if not longer; you've been the whole nine yards. Not everything you've seen can be explained by the scientifically condoned, can it?" I said nothing, staring intently at a piece of straw sticking up vertically from a dummy's eye socket. "Can it?" Annabeth stressed, and I felt her breath on my ear.

I clenched my fist at my side and let my eyelids droop over the pupils, blotting out the moonlit world for a few seconds. "Maybe not," I admitted. Annabeth let out a triumphant exhale, and I whirled around a second later. "but that doesn't mean it _isn't _scientifically explainable."

Annabeth studied me with a strange light in the corners of her eyes. "How much do you understand about the Greek myths, Eric?"

I sucked in a deep breath and forced my muscles to relax. "Not a heck of a lot," I lied. "Didn't come up a lot on the road."

"It should have," she said dismissively. "Do you know _why _the Greeks created these stories - admittedly true, yes, but why historians think they created them?"

_Here comes the lecture,_ I thought, bracing myself for what I knew would come whether I wanted it or not. "Do I look like I give a flying fu - ?"

"Out of an innate human desire to understand the world around us," Annabeth continued as though I hadn't spoken. "just as all theology is birthed from human ignorance of the order of the world. Ironically - and fascinatingly - enough, that is almost the _precise _definition of science, as it is accepted. Isn't that puzzling, how two things considered polar opposite in nearly every respect are next to identical in fundamental purpose?" Annabeth circled me, bending down and heave a fallen dummy upright. She shook her head, chuckling to herself. "Everyone nowadays is _convinced _there is nothing more for mankind to discover. No more startling achievements, no wonders to excavate. We have peeked and have nowhere to go but down. And yet, science continues to be a conglomeration of vaguely reputable theories derived from almost asinine and infallible facts. Things fall to the Earth, therefore something must act on them. The sun rises and sets on the horizon. There are four distinct seasons in a year. The things on which our entire modern outlook is based have been understood for centuries - ever since the emergence of agriculture in our early, early beginnings. And somehow, we've deluded ourselves into believing that all of this culminates into a supreme understanding of the universe. We're not even sure why the Earth spins, for crying out loud!" Annabeth shoved the dummy over and I gave a step at the outburst.

Her eyes narrowed at me as a thin, pointed fingernail extended toward me. She advanced and it was everything I could do not to back away. "Science is a measurement of reality. Reality is a measurement of the perception of one or more individuals. Perception is, by definition, filtered through a person's experiences and attitudes toward the world. Every brain, being hardwired differently as they are, sees things differently by extension. By this reasoning, is it not conceivable that what mortals see as reality - as science - can be equally true to our idea of it?"

I didn't answer, too stupefied and confused by her spiel on . . . Actually, I wasn't sure what her spiel was on. But I nodded anyway.

Annabeth spread her arms and smiled. "Our idea of reality entails bloodthirsty monsters escaped from Ancient Greek myths and immortal gods that procreate at random with any mortal that catches their fancy. To Camp Half-Blood, that is very true, and very real. Who are you to call it wrong?"

My eyes opened and closed slowly; not quite blinking, but not remaining shut either. My lips parted to frame words, only for my brain to realize I didn't _have _any words. So I closed it, sighing and rubbing my temples. "Wow," I said taciturnly. "Have you been practicing that for a while or was it just an impulse?"

"It's been bothering me ever since I started middle school - well, seventh grade. I lived here continuously from seven to twelve."

Annabeth rubbed the back of her neck and glanced down at her knife, seeming to realize she'd had it out the whole. She looked up at me, as if to check if I was freaked out by it. At my barely acknowledging snort, she shrugged and tucked it in its sheath, a flimsy leather covering tied to her belt. She cracked her neck swinging her arms back and forth as she bent down to clean up the carnage.

"Although you are by no means obligated," she said, voice strained and she struggled to get a dummy upright. "a little help would not go . . . unappreciated."

"Nah." I smirked, rolling a dummy over with my foot. It was easily perceived as a dismissive gesture, but the nudge worked it onto another spoke so to provide leverage. More than likely, Annabeth would chalk it up to coincidental when she got there. "You seem like a strong, virile young woman. I'm sure you can handle it fine." I patted the now standing dummy and turned to leave.

Only to come face-to-face with three snarling, winged old ladies.

Harpies are not pleasant to look at; they're sort of the smoker ladies of Greek mythology. Their faces are almost always misshapen - more so than mine - and they have random feathers poking out all over their bodies a lot. They were pudgy around the midsection, like a beer belly, and bird wings, usually those of a raven, protruded out of their back. They were temperamental, unsociable, and happy to tear you apart just because.

And they were the enforcers of curfew, which was probably the scariest part.

The harpies - two with dark feathers, the last with a faded red - stalked toward, hunching and stout as their long claws uncurled. I gulped, giving a step, and reaching for a spear on a nearby rack.

"Calm down," Annabeth said, coming from behind me with confident strides desperate the gruesome punishment dancing in the sullen eyes of Camp's ill-tempered maids. She swept me behind her with ease. "He's with me. I was showing him some moves for Capture the Flag tomorrow."

The harpies stopped, eyes still swimming with contempt. They seemed to back off a little, even though they didn't move.

I couldn't hide my sigh of relief.

Annabeth chuckled and held out a hand toward them. "Eric, meet the cleaning harpies. They man the kitchens, clean up before summer, and enforce curfew." My look of terror must have amused her even further, because she had to stifle her snort. "Don't worry. Being the equivalent to a general has its perks." She turned back to the harpies and smiled. "Thanks, but I really do have a lease on him. He's good. You can go now." But this time, the harpies didn't step away. They actually stepped forward, all at once and looking like members of a hive. Their beady eyes were wide, pupils dilated, and . . .

Actually, their pupils were dilated _a lot. _Like, more than just the iris of the eye. And it dawned on me all at once and way too fast: The harpies were servants of The Torturer.

Before I could warn Annabeth or get away, the three demons tilted their heads to the side and said, "One, two, three and four, kill the seven, start a war."

I spin around with a spoke before the first harpy could attack me, knocking her sideways and jabbing the other with the end. Annabeth let out a short exclamation before adapting to changing circumstances and slashing at the nearest harpy wearing a rumpled dress with black and white feathers. The two others went after me with zeal, claws lashing at me determinedly.

"Eric!" Annabeth hollered, the sound of metal scraping against metal proceeding her call. I tried to see more than just her bouncing ponytail, but with two bad-tempered demon ladies obscuring my view and requiring my full attention, there was little I could do.

Realizing my chunk of wood was useless against the monsters, I threw it at them and sprinted for another weapon. The rack of glittering bronze in the corner wasn't far, but a raven-winged harpy was just a millisecond faster than me and tackled me to the ground, slamming my head into the concrete with enough force to break a non-invincible jaw.

Time slowed and the world blurred, swirling into a wash of color with no defined shape. Groggy musings were the most complex things I could manage: _That hurts. I think I'm going to die. I think Annabeth might die._

Then came the logical conclusion, reachable even in my foggiest moments: _Nobody touches Annabeth. _

My elbow contacted with some part of the harpy, throwing her off my back and giving me time to scramble forward and pull a completely bronze staff from the bottom rung. I rolled over and sat on my butt, meeting the lunging she-demon with the length of the shaft and accidentally pushing the hidden bottom to expand the spearhead. A _xinging _metal sound filled the air, and then I had something sharp _and _durable to kick monster-ly ass with.

Spears were probably my least favorite weapon next to the bow. It took a very special kind of warrior to be good with a spear in a one-on-one fight, and I wasn't one of them. But a determined string of assailants hadn't been daunted by my ignorance with a spear, and sometimes - like when there were multiple attackers - spears could be an advantage. So I learned, and although I wasn't as proficient with the pointy stick as I'd like to be, I could hold my own in _most _fights.

Hence the total and utter devastation when the harpies resumed their assault.

I hit one in the temple with the butt of the spear, plunging the tip through the other's throat and listening to her dying wail with satisfaction. The second was cut partway through the clavicle the next second, and her colorful remains burst into the air. Glancing over, I saw Annabeth with her back to a pillar and a much more proficient harpy raining blows on her with two knives. I chucked the spoke from before at her - I know, not the best weapon - and she looked over at me long enough for Annabeth to kick her back and stab her in the gut.

She didn't even grunt before ceasing to exist.

A cut along her collarbone and nail marks on her face, Annabeth slumped against the pillar, tucking one of her many stray hairs behind her ear. She looked at me, eyes flitting to the spear now limp in my grasp. "You fought two of them with that?" She sounded impressed. "Wow. Perks for learning fast. Maybe the spear is your thing."

I nodded distantly, feeling weird and slow and really, really confused all of the sudden. "Uh . . . is it just me, or is the world spinning faster than normal?"

"Eric . . . ?" Annabeth began, but then the blood rushed from my head and I swooned.

* * *

_"This feels . . . odd," Calypso mused aloud, studying the crimson armor distastefully. The metal links of the chain-mail clinked together, creating a musical harmony. "Like a second skin I don't know how to use. Aigle, why exactly must I wear this?"_

_"To protect you, my sweet sister," Aigle said, fastening her sword to her belt. Seeing the seductress in full Greek armor, painted a clean red, was something of a shock. Her vibrant red hair had been braided and then curled into a bun, which was high and tight on her head, pulling at the skin on either side of her fair face. Twinkling, deceitful eyes favored the freed nymph with false love and care, smooth, unblemished fingers tracing a single cut on her lip. "That callous hero who tossed you to your death is still alive and well, and he will return. We must wreak vengeance on him. You remember our prerogative."  
_

_Calypso nodded distantly, lifting the short sword for inspection. Her face was twisted into a thoughtful. "I do not understand. For centuries, you and the others have condemned me. Now you welcome me, shower me with gifts and feasts, give me exotic weapons and armor . . . Why?"_

_Aigle faltered like she wasn't expecting the question. "We were young in the ages past, Calypso. Too young to understand how valuable you, our _sister, _really is. But now, we are ready to go to any lengths to preserve this familial bond." She clasped hands with Calypso in a way I had learned to associate with old-timey men going to war. "Starting with that quest." She nodded outside what I now realized was an abandoned warehouse. In it, monsters milled about, obviously working to build something. What, I wasn't sure. But there were a lot of sparks and fire being tossed about. Cyclopes were everywhere, they single eyes intent on their tasks. _

_Calypso yanked her hand away. "Those demigods have done nothing wrong. I don't see the reason in - "_

_"They aid your hero," Aigle interrupted angrily. "They aid him in his quest to destroy our father, to stop our kingdom from being built. He has learned of your survival, sister, and it frightens him." Aigle grew excited and she took both of Calypso's hands like girls at a sleepover, exchanging secrets. "It is advantage we won't have for long. We _must use it._"_

_Calypso's frown deepened even further. "Percy was the kindest hero who'd graced my shores since my banishment. Never once did he claim dominance over me or attempt to bed me. I cannot see why . . ."_

_"He grew bitter with years, sister," Aigle said, almost desperate. She brushed Calypso's hair from her face. "The Olympians used him, and in turn he used them, and now they use the world. He has grown corrupt and evil in his heart, his innocence washed away in the river of hate. It is an irredeemable path."_

_Calypso sat down dejectedly, her hands in her lap. "He was so sweet," she said absently. "So kind. When I saw him again, his light was gone. His joy, his fire . . . extinguished. I remember now. I remember dangling over the edge. My hand slipped in his, and he let me go." She looked up, tears in her perfect eyes. "I love him, Aigle. In this war, I cannot kill him. Do not make me."_

_Aigle shushed her and shook her head. "You won't have to." For the first time, I notice the absence of her "thy's" and "thee's." And the thin, thin argument she was making. "He will die entirely of his own doing. It is written in the Fates."_

_Calypso sobbed quietly, and Aigle held her. It looked warm and comforting from a distance, but I saw the stoic expression of the supposedly sympathetic Hesperide. _

_And then her twisted smile when Calypso said, "What must I do?"_


	12. Chapter 12

**I am a shameless music lover and have been devoting scandalous amounts of time to finding melodic pieces of therapy for my floundering mental state. As consequence, I have stumbled across a plethora of songs with eerie semblances to my story, the characters, and their relationships. Granted, music is forged from cliches, so I can't be too surprised. All disclaimers aside, here's a list of songs you might want to listen to.**

**First, the original characters:**

**Samantha Fisher: "Learn Me Right" from the _Brave _Soundtrack**_**  
**_

**Anne McCartney: "You're Gonna Go Far, Kid" by _The Offspring _**

**Next, some of the veterans:**

**Percy Eric Jackson: "No Roads Left" by _Linkin Park, _"Ready to Fall" by _Rise Against, _"Lullaby" by _Sia_**

**Annabeth Chase: "In the Mourning" by _Paramore _**

**Relationships:**

**Sam and Percy: "Run" by _Snow Patrol _**

**Percy and Annabeth: "What If This Storm Ends" by _Snow Patrol_**

**Percy and everyone: "Photograph" by _Nickleback _**

Chapter Twelve: What About Seven?

_White. _

_It was all around me, even as I swerved and ducked, slicing through it with my sword. It reformed a second later, and only after I threw my hand out into it and felt an intoxicating rush of energy did I realize it was water. Fast-moving water, swept airborne by vicious winds that whipped at my miraculously dry shirt. I gripped Riptide two-handed, white-knuckling it and panting as I whirled around, anticipating an attack from somewhere, anywhere. Sweat poured from my brow, hair soaked with perspiration, even if the water vapor had no effect on me. Panic was heavy and pervading in my chest, hammering in unison with my heart and trying to shatter my rib cage._

_I spun around, blade arcing through the air. And that's when I saw it; a silhouette vaguely reminiscent of a man struggling toward me, laboring against the wind and water that tried to knock him down. My heartbeat sped up and I gripped Riptide even tighter, sinking my knees lower to the ground. I said nothing, just waited for the figure to get closer. Still fighting, he drew closer and closer, and I could see tufts of something flaring off of him._

_Suddenly, something round hurled toward me, and I just had the presence of mind to get out of the way before it was too late, feeling heat wash over me harshly. It wasn't until it sputtered out on the damp rocky earth that I knew what it was; a fireball, propelled by the hand of the man resuming his advance._

_I came to my feet just as he cleared the worst of the storm. And gasped when I saw what the tufts had been._

_Fire. He was completely and utterly engulfed in flame. _

"Aaaaay-yiiiah!"

My eyes snapped open in time to see dirty nails reaching aggressively toward me. My moment of panic was followed by relief when the owner - a harpy with raven wings - burst apart into golden dust, having been eviscerated by Annabeth's knife.

"You're awake!" she exclaimed. "Thank Olympus! I've been keeping them from killing you for half-an-hour." She ducked under another swooping harpy, trying and failing to catch her in the breast. Annabeth outstretched her hand, and I didn't think; I let her haul me to my feet, swooning slightly at the rush of blood, and grabbed a nearby spear (honestly, Tyche? Enough with the spears, already!). A claw raked across my eyebrow, leaving no mark behind, and luckily Annabeth didn't see. (Take it back, Tyche.)

Before I could impale the harpy, Annabeth shoved something into my still-free left hand. It was a square of ambrosia. "Wha - ?"

"Godly food," she explained hastily, tumbling out of the way of two incoming harpies. I caught one in the belly-button and she let out a piercing cry before she was no more. "Healing in some doses. Eat it."

Deciding arguing with her would be the dumbest thing I'd ever done, I gobbled it up. Rejuvenation sparked through me, originating my stomach seconds after ingestion and spreading from there. With a greedy gasp, I felt power and energy surge into my limbs, even more forceful than a dip in a swimming pool. My fingers closed confidently around the spear's shaft and I spun out of the way of a harpy, smacking her in the face with its butt and simultaneously halving her sister. I swung the long pike over my head, keeping more of the demons at bay. Annabeth ducked under it and sprinted toward the creek.

For a horrifying moment, I thought she had pieced something together about my identity and was fortifying where she knew I was strong. But then she veered right toward the Archery Range. Before I could ask what she was doing, a harpy grabbed me by the hair and I flailed around to detach her; at that point, I figured it was follow the leader or die.

By the time I'd caught up with her, Annabeth was swatting harpies away with a appropriated bow like they were gnats. Her eyes seemed to catch fire excitedly when she saw me. "Eric!" she called. "Grab a bow! Shoot them!"

I wondered why I didn't think of it. It was so simple and straightforward. . . . Oh! _Yeah! _Because I _can't shoot a gods-damned bow straight. _

But there wasn't time to point that out. I looked over my shadow and saw a flock of harpies bearing down on us, a shadow over the Arena, with Celestial knives and their own deft nails readied. I glanced between the harpy advance and the bows strung up on the wall beside the long range for shooting. My milliseconds of indecision gave way to necessity as I snatched a bow and strung up, bringing the arrow up and taking aim. My arms shook too much to get a clear sight, and my depth perception was shit. I squinted through the darkness, only to find it harder to see. I relaxed, but the harpies were swooping anew, most of them attacking me.

I cursed vehemently and stabbed the arrow I was trying to restring through a harpy's neck. Her cry wasn't fully formed before she died. I tried again, managing to loose the shaft into the swarm of snatchers. Miraculously, I hit one, but it only knocked her slightly off course. And made her easy prey for Annabeth's clean shoot.

She was, by no means, superior to Apollo's prodigies or the handmaidens of Artemis, but she was far more dexterous than me. While I juggled the bow and the arrow unsuccessfully, having to defend myself in close combat, Annabeth was releasing three or more arrows. By the time I raised my bow for another valley, another six harpies were vanquished. It was admirable (and yes, I dare say it; hot) but also slightly demeaning. Here I was, the undead son of Poseidon, barely staggering through a fight while Annabeth left me in the dust.

I resolved to fix that someday.

Annabeth ran to retrieve another quiver, bellowing at me to watch her back. But with my prevailing incompetence, I didn't think I could. Panic enveloped as three of the fiends flew straight at Annabeth's back, and I leapt into action. The spear was, once again, the closest thing to me. I tumbled forward, holding the spear out with both hands, and slammed it into the stomachs of the harpies. They cried indignantly, and as five swarmed me, I heard Annabeth swear and fumble with another arrow. It was all feathers and rage and glinting bronze as I fought them off, feeling them shred my new shirt into tatters. I was covered in monster dust. It was so thick in the air that I choked on it, something that almost got me killed twice, but I managed to whirl around in time for the harpy to hit my stomach instead. Finally, a dozen or more harpies later, I stood with my spear embedded in the earth, panting.

"_Di immortales,_" Annabeth breathed. I heard the clatter of her bow and arrows. "That was . . ."

"Intense?" I supplied halfheartedly, shifting the spear to support my weight better. Weakly, I looked up at her, eyes half-lidded; my eyelids felt like sheets of lead, my veins drained of all blood and replaced with some heavy liquid I didn't have the energy to name. My head pounded determinedly, like there was some pesky imp trapped in my cranium trying to break free. I was sore all over and irritable because of it. And to top it all off, I could vividly remember the harpies quoting The Torturer. I was the _antithesis _of a happy camper, pun intended.

Annabeth nodded and slumped down on a nearby bench, burying her face in her hands. For a few seconds, the only sounds were our ragged breathing. Then she broke it with, "We should probably tell Chiron about this."

I _so _didn't feel like hiking all the way across the creek to tell a centaur I'd almost died. "Can't it wait til the morning? Better yet, you tell him and leave me the H-hell out of it."

"Hades," Annabeth corrected dazedly. "We say Hades here. Or Tartarus, depending on how angry you are."

I winced at the reference to the Greek hell. "Sure," I said disinterestedly. "I'm going to head back to that bed, okay?" I wasn't looking for approval, but apparently Annabeth thought I was.

Her hand shot in the air in a halting gesture. "Wait a minute," she snapped, eyes flashing despite her enervated posture. "If you think I'm going to explain a fight like that _on my own, _you are sadly mistaken." She pushed herself onto her feet, keeping her balance in a way that intimidated me, just because she was still standing. "You're coming with me. And _then _we can _both _get some sleep. Understood?"

"And you're going to make me?"

Annabeth's knife pointed at me, and even though she wasn't close, she looked more controlled than I was. She'd win a fight in seconds.

I held up my hand, shaking my head. "Fine, you win. Give me a second, will ya?" After composing myself enough to look somewhat comported, I dropped the spear and started off toward the Big House.

Annabeth _jogged _in front of me, the little powerhouse.

~1~

"And you're certain of this?" Chiron pressed, leaning forward in his wheelchair with his eyebrows interwoven.

Annabeth sipped some nectar. The cuts on her face had already healed, and some of the worse ones were beginning to knit together as well. "Chiron, I know what a harpy looks like. And those were _a lot _of harpies. At least a couple dozen. Almost every last one in the kitchens."

Chiron looked aghast. "And you killed them _all_?"

"Some of them fled," Annabeth assured. "But they were trying to _kill _us, Chiron. Something got to them. They're not safe."

Chiron still looked skeptical, like he didn't want to believe he could let homicidal monsters across the barrier. I reclined in a my plush La-Z-Boy, draining the third bottle of water in ten minutes. I was going to _seriously _need the boy's room when we were through here. "And you fought them alone? Annabeth, are you sure you're alright?"

"Alone?" I cried, bolting upright. "You think I look like this because I was skipping through daisies? She had backup, trust me."

"Of course." But Chiron's tone suggested he didn't hold much faith in my ability to defend myself, let alone someone else.

"Actually, he did." Annabeth took another swallow of her nectar. Color was returning to her cheeks. "If it wasn't for Eric, I would have died. It seemed most of them were going after me."

I tried to think back to the fight. Two of the first folly attacked me to her one. And then the swarms that assailed me when I tried and failed to string an arrow. But I hadn't been paying any special attention to Annabeth at the time; she was probably right. Still, I couldn't shake the feeling we were missing something. The harpies had mentioned a war (I'd pushed the parallel to The Torturer's rhyme from my immediate thoughts), and something about killing "seven." I remembered that much clearly. But "seven?" Why seven? Since when was seven ever an important number in Greek mythology. You've got three - kind of a recurring theme - and then twelve for the Olympians. Even thirteen, if you wanted to _really _stretch reality to include Hades. But after that, there were the Nine Muses. And aside from being Nine, what would anyone want with a Muse? Seriously?

"I haven't an idea," Chiron was saying, pulling me from my thoughts with a rapt expression. "Why do you ask?"

I blinked. "Huh?"

"You asked about the number seven," Annabeth said, and the only thing I could do was stare at her stupidly. Had I spoken aloud? "Yes."

I smacked my palm to my forehead and tried to stay calm. "Alright then, fine. What is so important about the number seven, O Wise-Ass?"

Annabeth shrugged, apparently as much at a loss as Chiron or me. "Nothing I can rightly recall in the myths. The last time I heard the number 'seven' used in any vaguely important contest was . . ." Her eyes widened and she slammed her hands into the table, suddenly alert and wolfish. Her grey eyes sparkled with fearful brilliance, the same knowledgableness she expressed whenever she'd realized something that could change the course of history. Which was more often than anyone would like. "The prophecy!" she cried. "Chiron, the prophecy. The new Great Prophecy. It said something about - "

Chiron's hand shot into the air, and coupled with his stern glower, Annabeth fell silent and leaned back in her seat. "I'll look into it," he promised. "But not now, I _refuse _to conject about this. We have no evidence, Annabeth, and no proof. All talking about another war is going to do is cause hysteria."

"But - "

"We're not ready," he said firmly. "Olympus is still recovering from Kronos's invasion. Even the Mist has left enough room for mortals to speculate about what happened in Manhattan. We've grown in number, but most of our campers are still inexperienced. Can you imagine an army with minimal fighting experience interdispersed with veterans? No. Until we know for sure, I can't afford doomsaying theories. This matter is closed."

Annabeth's eyes were wide with defiance, shining with a comeback readied, both on her lips and in her pupils. This matter wasn't closed. It was written over every inch of Annabeth's body, denied with every second Chiron held his face impassive. All I could do was sit there, jaw open and disbelieving. _What _had just happened?

Once again, I voiced my question aloud, but this time no one answered me. The staring match between centaur and half-blood dragged on interminably until I decided it was better to leave them alone than loiter around looking for answers I wasn't going to get. But halfway to the door, Chiron asked, "Out of curiosity, what weapon did you use?"

I gulped, for once grateful that I hadn't been able to use Riptide when I needed it. "A spear. I just found it on a rack."

Chiron nodded and waved me out.

* * *

**I can't tell if I should be ashamed if this chapter's brevity or proud of it. A lot of people tell me my updates are too long, but I think this one is too short. **

**So it was a disappointing conclusion to the cliffhanger, honestly, but it did . . . thicken the plot, so to speak. Stuff discussed here will come up again, I promise. Just not as soon as some of you might want.**

**Should I make "Eric's" nickname for Annabeth Wise-Ass? It's really, extraordinarily tempting.**


	13. Chapter 13

**This is kind of that chapter the sorts out the irritating exposition for awhile so we can return to the plot. I establish a long-running relationship in here, and I do so very badly. If any of you own a gun with which you would like to shoot me, you have more than enough permission.**

**Can I ask you to listen to "Lullaby" by _Sia _while you read the large block of italicized text? It's not very well written, but it is important, and the song helps to better communicate the emotion behind it.**

**On an unrelated note: House of Hades is out!**

Chapter Thirteen: Memories, Mistakes and Misnomers

Annabeth was sitting on the lawn chair outside when I closed the door behind me, legs swinging almost childishly while a determined scowl colored her face in the faint porch light. She was still disheveled from the fight, but she must have run her fingers through her hair and redone her ponytail, because that was fairly neat. Even though she didn't look at me, I could see her sizing me up, deciding what to say.

"Out with it," I blurted, too anxious to wait for Annabeth to speak first. She jumped a little, her intimidation factor lessening in her surprise. "I'm tired, cranky, and way too sore to deal with twenty questions. You're not waiting here for Horse Fur, he isn't coming out. So you must want to talk to me."

"Figured that out on your own, did you?" Annabeth mocked. I could tell I was getting under her skin, the way her shoulders tensed when I addressed her and her chin was just a little higher when she addressed me. It was back to enemies with her, and that was just fine with me. "You have some experience fighting, Eric. You lied to me in the Arena. Most half-bloods are wary when they first come here, so I won't fault you for it, but if you persist in deceiving me, I'll have to take an initiative."

"And what would that be?" I leaned forward, trying to seem as much the predator as Annabeth. The only problem? She stood at the exact same time, and by the time I realized what was happening, our faces were less than an inch apart. It was a struggle not to go red. "O Wise Ass?"

Annabeth shot away from me like a bullet, only noticeably frazzled because I had known her for four years before my banishment. "The punishment should fit the crime," Annabeth said patiently. "and as you're obviously _very_ interested in finding out the importance of the number seven, unless I receive a straight answer, I'll see to it that you never find out."

Check and mate.

I blinked, blood boiling and cooking my organs along with it. Although my drive for knowledge had never been as strong as Annabeth's, the last time I was kept in the dark there had been a massive prophecy with my name stamped across it and more casualties than a teenager should ever have to know. Being denied the answer again, when Annabeth was obviously involved.

Ow.

"Fine," I said, scoffing. Annabeth looked taken aback. "I don't even really want to be here. It's for Sam, and that's it. Besides, nothing good can come from Oracles."

It wasn't until I was halfway across the strawberry fields that I realized Annabeth hadn't said a word about Oracles.

~1~

I passed Cabin Two on my way back to Eleven.

It was like someone had dropped an anchor in my arms. I stopped dead, as though rooted to the spot by magic, and tried not to look at the small, square marble temple, Corinthian columns climbing to the triangular roof. I crushed my eyes shut, fighting to wipe the image of the overhanging number 2 from my mind. A tiny voice, squeaky and heartbroken from years of suppression, scraped against the concrete it was encased in. _Admit you miss your home. Admit you miss your friends. Admit there's still hope for you. _

Without willing it, without asking for it, without feeling my feet move along the grass, vibrant green and beautiful beneath their soles, I found my palm flush against the smooth, mottled surface. And without proper reason, without conscious thought, I started to cry.

All at once, it all came back to me. Every struggle, every quest, every mini-endeavor I'd forged ahead on beside my friends and my family. It was a rush of emotion, crippling and debilitating as it crushed my lungs within it. I couldn't breathe, even as I drew ragged gasps. My eyes were on fire, small volcanoes with lava trailing down my cheeks. My knees were putty. They slammed into the porch, and my jeans tore viciously. My skin was unmarred; even if I could feel the pain of it being penetrated, my nerves being barred in the open, it could never have compared the earth-shattering agony I felt in my chest. In the cavity where my battered heart resided.

"Why?" I choked on my own words. The stars twinkled above me. No one was around. No one watched from their cabins as the shambles of my sanity burst apart. I was alone.

What else was new?

_Annabeth laughed raucously as I spun her around clumsily, catching her balance on my shoulders as her eyes teared up from mirth. "Seaweed Brain!" she protested insincerely. "Careful!"_

_Others celebrated around us, some with graceful moments reminiscent of cats, others with experience. But most were drunken demigods glad to be alive and hanging onto one another because of it. Annabeth and I belonged to the latter party._

_"Sorry," I said, even if I didn't particularly mean it. I hugged Annabeth on an impulse, and she didn't shy away or swat me for being sentimental. She rested her head on the crook of my neck and sighed, deflating into my arms. I could feel her guards fall into oblivion, the overwhelming exhaustion tearing them down and letting them fall into _my _arms. Me. No one else._

_I could have died a happy man._

_"Don't be," she said, and I sensed a lead-in, but just then, the ballroom gave a collective gasp. Not ones to be caught unawares, Annabeth and I broke apart, reaching for our respective weapons. The dense crowd of dancers were scrambled to form a clean aisle, and when I realized what for, I dragged Annabeth to the same side as me._

_Hera looked purposeful as she strode down the newly formed opening, dress skating on air. Her hair bounced off of her back, and her chocolate gaze was unfeeling as it perused the line of mortals and immortals like they were books on shelves and she were deciding which one she'd deign to read that week. When her withering stare settled on me, I felt my blood go cold. Instinctively, I shuffled in front of Annabeth. However much Hera loathed my existence, she wanted Annabeth dead._

_"Perseus Jackson," she said without intonation or mercy. My very name felt like the weapon with which she would smite me. _

It was with bitterness that I looked back on that scene and laughed at the awful irony of it all.

_"Yes?" I tried for innocence, but it came across fearful. I was enervated from the battle. All I wanted to do was enjoy a few intimate moments with Annabeth and go home, but the fiery look in Hera's retinas offered no such peace. The guinea pig portion of my psyche was screaming at me to run, but I stood firm. I was afraid she'd ask me to step aside so she could talk to Annabeth, and I wouldn't let that happen._

_"I need a word."_

_It was with that sentence that Hera trumped my worst nightmares. I swallowed, but my throat was dry. Arid as it was, I strangled through chattering teeth, "Okay," and set off to follow in Hera's footsteps._

_Annabeth stopped me, grabbing my hand and yanking back on it like I was a dog getting too far. I spun to face her. "No," she said, and her eyes were fiercer and promised more pain than Hera could dish out. "It can wait."_

_"I'm afraid it cannot," Hera told her stiffly, all but placing her hands on her sides in emphasis._

_I glanced back at the goddess and then returned my attention to Annabeth. Both of knew I was lying when I said, "It's not like it's something bad. I'll be back before you know what hit you."_

_Annabeth's eyes were watering when I walked away._

And I stormed up to my past self, socked him across the jaw, and ordered him to go back and kiss her and tell her he loved her and promise her a brighter future, even if he wasn't there. Shoved him until he embraced her and made Hera wait five gods-damn minute to rip his world apart.

Only I didn't. If I had, I wouldn't be crying right now, fists clenched with the impossible weight of my responsibility.

_I had been browsing the assortment of nightshade flowers when Hera dropped the bombshell. _

_"__By order of the Olymp__ian Council, members Zeus, Poseidon, Apollo, __Aphrodite, __Ares, Artemis, Athena, Demeter, Dionysus, Hephaestus, Hermes, and myself, as well as the honorary vote of Hades, you are banished from the grounds of Camp Half-Blood on threat of death should you ever violate your banishment."_

_The flowerpot with the pretty blue flowers in it shattered against the ground._

_"What?" My voice sounded unnaturally controlled to me. Like a different person. When I looked up at Hera, there was a definitively cautious expression on her face, hidden under a mask of indifference. With a stray smile peaking from the edges of the facade. "Lady Hera, I don't think I heard you right. What did you . . . ?"_

_"You're banished," Hera reiterated like it annoyed her. Like twisting the dagger deeper into my chest wasn't her favorite thing ever. "Such is the decree of the Council."_

_The suffocating feeling around my chest had to be a boa constrictor crushing the life from me. It was the only thing plausible that could explain why I felt faint. "Why?" In a heartbeat, I turned desperate. I stepped over the shattered pot, dirt everywhere. I crushed a blue petal under my shoe. "What did I do? I'll fix it. I'll - "_

_"It's too late for that, Jackson. It's written in stone. Your future is absolute. You cannot go back on threat of death."_

_"You think that will stop me?" I hissed. These vocal changes scared even me. Panic was alive in my chest, but it didn't have control. Yet. "I don't care if I die. I'm going home. You can do whatever you like to me, I'm going . . ."_

_"Then they all will die."_

_My foot hovered over the flowers. "What?"_

_"Your family, both mortal and demigod. Your return will catalyze their deaths. Camp Half-Blood will be reduced to smoldering ruin, a mere crater in the place of the sanctuary. They will wither away under the assault, and you will stand, useless, in the middle of the decay, its harbinger and cause." Hera's smirk was inhuman against her pretty face. "You made us swear to climb our children. You did not make us swear to never hurt them."_

_I caught myself on the table, and more flowers fell. More pots shattered. I wondered if I was killing these measly plants unintentionally. Small mercy._

_I gasped through the tears burning down my cheeks. I felt Hera's fingers curl under my chin, lifting it up. Her gaze was (almost) motherly. "Peace, Jackson. Perhaps, one day, you will find another home."_

_"Yeah," I croaked, "and then you'll banish me again. Right?"_

_"Get up." Hera snapped her fingers and I was thrown onto my feet. "You are not becoming of a hero. Wipe your face. There will be a few minutes to speak with the others before your father calls you to Olympus. Alone." Hera's eyes flashed. "Do not _think _about telling your friends about our deal. And never, ever, let anyone from your past discover who you are. Tartarus itself will rain on your head if you do."_

_My tears evaporated and Hera ushered me out the door. Right up to Annabeth, who had apparently been pacing from worry. When she saw me, she ran up with a hopeful look on her face. That dissolved into hate when she saw Hera sashay out from behind me. "Thank you, Lady Hera, for returning him."_

_Hera only nodded and walked off._

_Annabeth hugged me tightly. I couldn't bring myself to return it quite as enthusiastically. I felt so numb. "What's wrong?" Annabeth asked when she pulled away. "What did Hera want to talk to you about?" _

Tartarus itself will rain on your head. _"Nothing," I said, hoping to sound nonchalant. "Seriously. I don't know why she even wanted to talk to me."_

_"I heard stuff breaking," Annabeth said carefully, studying my face. "What happened?"_

_"I tripped." It wasn't a lie. I didn't want to lie to her._

_Annabeth seemed unconvinced, but she took my hand and started pulling me down the hall. "Whatever, klutz. Come on, then. The others are waiting in the lobby. We're gonna load on pegasi and go home. I've got something to give you once we get there."_

_Home. I wanted to break into tears then and there, but I had to force and smile and nod. "Right behind you."_

_Annabeth looked worried. "Percy, are you sure you're okay? You look really scared."_

_I had to try not to swallow. "Great. Let's just go, 'kay?"_

_"Son?"_

_Oh gods, I thought. Not yet. Let me say something else. Let me hug her. Please, dad, let me kiss her._

_Annabeth's eyes relaxed when she saw my father standing behind me. I didn't need to turn to see the regret shining in his gaze. "Go on, Seaweed Brain. I'll hold Blackjack for you."_

_She released my hand and ran down the hall before I could say another word._

_Hot tears fell freely down my face as I watched her lithe form turn a corner and disappear from my life. A blur of color that brightened my days suddenly ripped away._

_"I know you loved her," Poseidon said, resting a hand on my shoulder as he steered me toward the throne room. "I'm sorry."_

_"Then why did you banish me?" I tore my shoulder from his grasp and stormed toward the trashed immortal hall, leaving my father broken in my wake._

"He still loves you," a warm voice said from behind me. "Despite your hatred for him, he never stopped."

"Wonderful way of showing it, he has," I sighed, coming to my feet and wiping my tears on my dirty sleeve. "Gods, you'd think I'd be over this by now." I turned to look at a little girl with a brown hood drawn over her face and warm ember eyes peeking from the shadow beneath. Quiet power permeated the air around her, ripples of comfort dancing from her place with clasped hands and a still, accepting posture. "Good evening, Lady Hestia."

Hestia pulled off her hood and motioned for me to join her beside the campfire. She didn't wait for my answer, walking back over and crossing her legs beside it. The crackling fire responded well to her nearness, calming down and taking on more life. I lowered myself a few feet to her right, tucking my knees to my chest. A poker appeared in the corner of my vision, and I took it without a word.

As I prodded the fire, Hestia said, "A man bereft of a home is bereft of many valuable things. It is a travesty that you should have to be so bereft."

I only grunted.

"Have you ever looked for another life? Another option to this one?"

I shook my head. "What's the point? Even if I found one monsters couldn't find me at, what makes you think Hera won't take that away, too?" I looked at Hestia and felt my heart swell with remorse. "I'm sorry, Lady Hestia, I really am. I don't mean to unload on you."

"You have no one else," she reminded me. Her voice was sweet and compassionate, more understanding than anyone before her. "You horde your darkest secrets and fears to yourself. That will only drive you mad."

"It's a little late for that, m'lady." I yawned, covering it with my other hand while I appeased the hungry fire. It crackled happily. "The Torturer did that all on his little lonesome."

"You are not completely insane," Hestia said, as though reminding me. "nor are you completely hopeless."

"'Course I am," I chuckled darkly.

"A while ago, a wising young man said, 'Home survives best at the hearth.'"

"Really?" I demanded, turning on Hestia. "You're turning my own words on me? And I don't _have _a 'hearth' anymore, remember? Hera sort of took that away."

Hestia's fiery eyes flared with an emotion I couldn't recognize. "A hearth, and a home, are not always a place, Percy. Remember that."

And then she was gone.

~3~

The next morning was one of perpetual grumpiness and award-winning arrogance from me, and not all of it was a byproduct of my persona.

It started a couple of hours after I had stealthily slipped back inside Cabin Eleven and climbed to the top bunk. Delirious to such a point as to seem inebriated, I'd forgotten to take off my shoes and pulled the soggy, worn pieces of tenuously connected fabric off my feet and dropped them to the ground with two distinctive _thuds. _Although made cheaply and already severely punished from running and fighting, they rang out loud enough to cause nearby sleepers to rouse momentarily. But after a few incoherent mutterings, the girl to the right of Sam only picked up her head a few inches and let it slump back to the pillow. She didn't notice my late entrance.

As previously mentioned, I was insanely tired. What triggered it, I couldn't be sure, but I'd spent at least thirty more minutes obsessing over Hestia's parting remark, and by the time I staggered back to the brown cabin, the espresso effect of the nectar had worn off. I cackled madly, rolling around and soiling the newly washed linens of my bed as I wordlessly mocked the hospitality of my hosts. And their ignorance.

In the wake of physical, mental, emotional, and psychological enervation, I fell into an instantaneous slumber the second I stopped laughing.

_The sounds of insanity were deafening in the corridors of Tartarus, the letters of madness written by the fingernails of the suffering, scratched into the glowing red stone. And apparently, hidden away in one of the smaller cells, a harpy with her wings nailed to the walls screamed at the mercy of her rangy interrogator, whose dark Shaman robes made it seem like he was performing a Satanic sacrificial ritual. _

_"If you tell me," he said, like a breathy promise against her neck. A lover's oath. "I'll release you."_

_She only shook her weakly, hanging limply from the wall even as the nails tore more of her wings. A hungered growl rumbled past The Torturer's lips as he held his knife against her throat. She was naked, her entire body littered with bloody ancient runes, incantations only he could decipher. Pale lips millimeters from hers, he whispered something I couldn't hear in Ancient Greek. _

_The harpy wept softly, but didn't answer._

_Blood spurted against the walls of the cell as the harpy gargled. Slowly, she disintegrated, flaking away along the mysterious breeze that came in Tartarus only when a monster was destroyed once and for all. When demons were vanquished in the place they had been created, they were gone for good._

_The Torturer licked the golden drops from his blade and placed his palm flat on the steaming wall. The rock cracked, and then opened. He leaned against the frame, propping a foot on the other like some teenager from the modern age. Probably learned it from one of his more worldly minions. While wiping more of the ichor on his black robes, which absorbed it instantly, he called, "Another?"_

_The estranged cries of a beaten harpy faded out of earshot as two Cyclopes dragged her into the cell and locked me out. I caught her eyes just before it closed. She was the harpy I'd distracted so Annabeth could kill her. _

Something hit my thigh and I shot upright, reaching for Riptide before I was fully awake. I came to with Sam's holding my hand immobile and shooting worried looks around the bustling room. Apparently, I'd been the last to wake up in Cabin Eleven, because people were already dressing and shoving their way out to breakfast. No one paid us any mind.

Slowly, I slipped my hand out of my pocket and sighed in relief. "Thanks," I said quietly to Sam. She nodded with a smug smile, promptly twisting around and picking up a pair of clothes with clean black _Nikes _atop them. My heart sunk when I realized the orange shirt was for me. "I can't wear that," I told her, panic rising in my chest.

Sam set them on my lap and squeezed my hand. "If you don't, they'll get suspicious. We're opportunistic runaways, remember? You taught me to take what we're given and not complain."

I couldn't argue with her point, so I nodded her off my bed and pulled off the filthy shredded shirt whose color I'd forgotten, replacing it with the crisp, ironed tee with Camp Half-Blood's insignia scrawled along the front - its name with a black pegasus underneath. The jeans were new and unmarred, with normal pockets and the smell clothes gave off right away you pulled them from the rack. I wondered where Camp Half-Blood got them so short-notice, then scolded myself. They probably had a huge stash of various sizes, just for demigods coming in with nothing. I certainly wasn't the first to arrive unpacked.

The crowd was suffocating as I weaved among them, like an imposter, a wolf in sheep's clothing. My mind reeled with guilt; these people were my family, my closest friends, and I was conning them out of a bed, clothes, food, and weapons like a common criminal. All for . . . what? A promise from a goddess who had already proven herself to be unreliable? No. I knew I was grasping at smoke, and I always would be, and the effort to keep grasping would kill me. I could only hope it killed me before it hurt anyone else.

Sam squeezed my hand again, ever the anchor. When I stopped in front of the door, she cracked it open for me and jerked her head outside. Her eyes were knowing as I ruffled her hair and fled.

I needed darkness and seclusion. I found that in the alley between Cabin Twelve and Thirteen, where shadows were dense and people were scarce. I paid no mind to Nico's home right in front of me, just the fact that I could take a few moments to compose myself and prioritize. Plan. Prepare. All the P's that applied.

I sunk to the ground, rapping my head against the wall and biting back a string of curses. Already, my head was clearing, and it became apparent whose thoughts the whirlwind had belonged to. "Thanks, Torturer," I grumbled, burying my face in my hands. "Just what I needed on my first day."

I could hear the laughter and conversation from the rest of camp leaking into my sanctuary. It was time for breakfast, and cabins were milling toward The Dining Pavilion, more intent on their discussions than food. The air was light with joviality, the conversations unhindered by fear, and tensions minor to nonexistent. Not a cloud marred the beautiful expanse of blue above. The sun shined as intensely as it ever had.

But still. The harpy attack had unsettled me more than I cared to admit, but my nerves were on edge before and I knew it. Why had Hera chosen _now _to force me to stay at Camp Half-Blood and prove myself? Why was I having such vivid dreams about Calypso being corrupted? What did "seven" have to do with anything whatsoever?

And what in Zeus's name was that infernal smacking?

I flashed an irritated look down the alley. I hated it when things distracted me from otherwise intelligent and profound thoughts, considering their scarcity, so the determined sounds of kissing crawled under my skin a little more than it should have. I scowled at the two silhouettes thoroughly interwoven, to such an extent as to seem inseparable. And the infrequent giggling was seriously rubbing on the wrong nerve.

"Will you quiet down?" a familiar voice hissed as another fit of laughter was silenced with more lip-locking. I wrinkled my nose. "Gods, Pollux, you want somebody to walk in on us?" Recognition hit me like a freight train and I sputtered on a nonexistent drink.

_Nico, _I mouthed at the dominant partner, who had the other pinned against the wall with a penetrating kiss. The two shapes broke apart enough to tell one from the other. "C'mon, you know you love it."

"Shut up and keep kissing, smart mouth."

I shot out of there like a bullet, dusting myself off and struggling to keep the red from showing too prominently on my face. Images of my baby cousin straddling a smug-looking son of Dionysus filled my mind, and I landed on the Hermes table with a distracted slump. A heaping plate of eggs and ham appeared in front of me, and I reached for the goblet, giving it an experimental taste. Chocolate milk.

"You okay, Eric?" Travis asked from a ways down the table, buttering a bread roll that had recently been fetched from his younger sister's meal. She pouted before scraping his omelette onto her plate. "You look a little freaked out, and you shot out of the cabin pretty fast."

I looked over at him with a cold stare. "I think I'll keep my problems to myself, thanks." The "thanks" was cold and insincere.

Travis held up his hand, switching his and Connor's plates around with his left. "So you have problems."

I ignored him. While I gobbled up my food, I had a moment to realize and consider the fact that, if we were still magically getting our food, did that mean the harpies were staying? It hadn't seemed likely last night when I talked to Chiron, but I supposed it was possible.

Just then, Nico and Pollux walked in together, Pollux trying and failing to snatch Nico's hand. Somewhere at Ares wolf-whistled, and the couple flipped him off without a second thought. The Dining Pavilion roared with laughter.

"Only at Camp Half-Blood is the most beloved couple the longest-running gay one," Chris mumbled through a mouthful of food. "Gods, I love this place."

When I saw Nico sit down with a legitimate smile on his face and initiate an animated discussion with Pollux, I couldn't help but agree. Gods-dammit.

~4~

Annabeth was teaching at the Arena. Why the fuck was Annabeth teaching at the Arena?

Oh, right. Before The Fates hate me and Aphrodite thinks I'm cute. _Fuck. My. Life. _

As if my life didn't royally suck already, there were about a billion preschoolers gathered in the core of the practice area, so Hermes and Nike had some serious trouble getting in. When Annabeth saw the congregation of tween to adult demigods assembled, she nodded toward them and crouched down to the level of the clumsy, stumbling mini-heroes. "That should be all for today. We've run over time, and I have another class to teach. See if you can get few things from arts and crafts, but then I need you to go back to the daycare."

They cheered, voices ringing in a harmony of the easily-entertained, and raced off, abandoning their miniature weapons in piles as they went. Their laughter was the type of music that had once had me fantasizing about children.

I milled forward with the rest, caught in the middle and separated from Sam, who was knuckled under the "guiding" arm of Travis Stoll, who had been giving her a loud tour of Camp the whole day. I wanted to punch him so badly my knuckles itched.

"Hello again," Annabeth called over the two cabins. It wouldn't be that big - Nike only had five campers - but Hermes was, as a rule, huge. Hermes was one of, if not the _most, _prolific of the Olympians. Everyone listened intently to Annabeth. "We've got two new campers with us today, so if someone would agree to spare with them for the first half, initiate them, so to speak."

No hands shot into the air. After several moments of prolonged inaction, a smattering of arms rose, all slowly and hesitantly, as though ready to dart back down at a moment's notice. Annabeth selected two of them - a spry looking girl only one or two years Sam's senior and a burly troublemaker from next to her. None too surprising, both volunteers were from Nike; the goddess of victory tended to supply more competent stock than the mischievous children of the merchant's god.

I paired off with the bigger dude, whose smug expression gave my finger a twitch toward Riptide. When he started heaving a clearly non-Greek sword around - some Arabian thing with a one-sided curved blade - like he meant business, I was sorely tempted to snatch a sword from the rack to my right as opposed to the leather-gripped spear. But I did anyway, face studiously expressionless as I advanced to where he leaned against a pillar.

He gave me a derisive onceover. "I've seen better," he said, pointedly unimpressed.

I fell into a deep, wide stance and braced for attack. "So have I."

He snorted approvingly, waving his sword like a salutation, and sunk into his own looser position. "I'm Ulysses, by the way," he said disinterestedly. "So you know who kicked your ass."

"Smart people say that _after _they kick someone's ass."

"I'm not smart," Ulysses allowed jokingly, "but I am good. You first."

I waited a few seconds, trying to form a plan in my head. The more time I spent at least _looking _like I was thinking about my next move, the less people thought of me as impulsive. The less people thought of me as impulsive, the less I had in common with Percy Jackson.

Gods, I realized. Is _fighting _going to be the real-life chess game too? I was _so _not up for that.

I attacked.

I recognized the weapon as a scimitar as it arced through the air in fluid, evasive circles, winding around my spear and toward my chest. I sucked in my gut more than once, praying the blade wouldn't catch on my skin and reveal my invincibility. I exhausted traditional fighting until the two-dimensional jabs and lunges became too impractical to think about. Then I changed things up.

My favorite thing has always been experimenting with weapons (well, that and the ocean). So when I flipped the spear and rammed Ulysses with its length down the chest, his surprise was the only one. While he was distracted, I hit him in the foot with the butt end and started to pull it between his legs. He rolled backward, away from my assault, and scoffed, "Nice." Then he came at me with renewed frenzy until the both of us were trading blows with abandon and the symphony of other fights had started to quiet down. I kept trying to sweep his legs, but he saw it coming every time. He kept trying to feint and nip me on the collarbone, but I never failed to thwart him somehow. He scowled in annoyance, I scowled in concentration. And our match continued.

At least until a wailing harpy kicked Ulysses in the face.

He toppled like a bag of bricks and I shot away from the airborne monster with a cry. "Help!" the variegated-winged harpy screeched. "Help! Help!" It was like the frantic cawing of an eagle. I heard hoofs gallop from nearby and turned toward them as Chiron and another centaur ran after the estranged she-demon with bows raised. My heart stopped, but when they let their arrows fly, they joined into a net.

Which promptly missed the harpy.

The Arena had deteriorated into gasps and cries of alarm. Some campers were rooting on the harpy while the others were wild, hurrying Chiron to capture her. She swooped to and fro like she didn't know where to go. I felt compelled to help Ulysses, but she was between us and heroism was the last thing on my agenda. My breath hitched and I waited - like an allergic would wait for a bee - to fly away.

Annabeth came forward with her knife drawn and eyes shining. She slashed the air at the harpies feet, hissing like cat. "Back," she ordered. "Back. Get out. Get out now."

The harpy shook her head. Tears glistened in her blue eyes. "Sara will not leave her home. Sara has been framed. Help!" Annabeth lunged backward when the harpy reached out for her. Chiron rounded the corner sharply, his friend bringing up the rear, and fired again. This time, the net caught the harpy's wings and she fell to the ground, trapped.

I could only watch in horror as she struggled against the restraints, tearful and wailing for mercy. "Sara loves Camp Half-Blood! Camp Half-Blood is kind to her. Camp Half-Blood is Sara's home!" Chiron wrapped her up in the net with his brown-horse half buddy and flung her over his back. She squirmed unsuccessfully. "Camp Half-Blood is Sara's home! Sara loves her home! Let her stay home!" She looked at me last, eyes wet with sadness, and whimpered, "Let her stay home."

Chiron broke into a run toward Half-Blood Hill, and then the terror was over.

A chill settled over my bones at her parting plea. The way she looked at me, like she _knew _I could sympathize with her pain . . . part of me wanted to sprint after her and set her free, demand how she knew who I was, what I'd gone to. But I was rooted to the spot by shock alone.

Ulysses's sister and brother loaded his unconscious body onto a stretcher and carried him away. I watched wordlessly before replacing my spear and picking up his fallen sword. Another one of his siblings took it from my hands. The only Nike camper left in the Arena was the spry one still putting Sam through her paces. My charge had a determined look on her face as she exchanged knife slashes with her opponent, beads of sweat falling into her eyes. Others had chosen to continue fighting, as well, but much fewer than before.

Most were hanging around, talking in hushed whispers, or simply trying to comprehend what had taken place.

I felt someone standing behind me and sighed. "What do you want, Wise Ass?"

"Don't call me that," Annabeth said automatically. I turned in time to catch a wince. "You froze when that harpy when after you." It wasn't a question. She wasn't asking for me to elaborate, even if her pause suggested as such. I bit my tongue. Finally, Annabeth cracked. "Why?"

I shrugged. "'Don't start a fight if you don't want one.' First rule of survival. Unofficial, of course," I added condescendingly.

Annabeth brushed the aside off like water. "Alright, but you haven't precisely been the _least _antagonistic person here, if you understand me." Her eyes were dissecting as they studied my reaction.

I struggled to keep calm and resolute, even though the flecks of blue in Annabeth's grey eyes kept undermining my focus. "Yeah, I understand you. But I know a threat from a noncombatant." I made my eyes flash in warning. "Speaking of. If you don't take a step back right now, I'm going to have to switch gears."

Annabeth held up her hands and opened her mouth like she wanted to something more. But she shook her head, smiling, and walked away. I breathed through my mouth and watched her take control of the gossiping campers, bringing them to center with less than a sentence. Her hands flew about, pointing certain individuals certain directions while I hang back and tried to look thoroughly bored with the whole endeavor.

Sam's smirk when she passed me alongside her older friend told the truth. I had watched Annabeth like a hawk the whole time.

I ghosted through the rest of the activity, haunted from the fear in the harpy's eyes and the way she sought me out for mercy. But when Annabeth bumped against me on her way to help a confused swordsman and more than just my heart jumped, I decided something had to be done.

No sooner had Travis announced the free reign of the Hermes cabin until three o'clock than I made a beeline for the most secluded brazier. I needed to have a private word with the goddess of love.

**Interlude chapters are the bane of my existence. The story has been so slow these last couple of chapters, I feel so forced writing it. It's aggravating, to say the least. But this should mark the conclusion of stuff being impossible to write and bridge the way into a much more complicated read.**

**You know my obsession with music that comes up all the time? Yeah, here it is again. Look up "Not Gonna Die" by _Skillet _and make _sure _you check out their official music video. On Youtube, the title should read _Skillet - "Not Gonna Die" (Lyric Video) _and it's by _skilletband. _More than likely, the picture will come up as a very angry little girl running forward with the red letters "We're gonna fight for us together" behind her. **

**When you're done watching that (and that's your homework; you're not allowed to read anymore of my stuff until you do that), you may PM me about how utterly beautiful a music video it is. Because I cried the first seven times I watched it, and I still can't get enough.**


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